


The Interview: Gap Filler(s)

by silsuffisait



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-06
Updated: 2009-07-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silsuffisait/pseuds/silsuffisait
Summary: Self-explanatory, LOL.
Relationships: George Harrison/Original Character(s)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Self-explanatory, LOL.

**Title**: The Interview: Gap Filler #1

As promised, here's the first of the few gap fillers I shall be posting. This was written very quickly, while still fresh in my mind. Just as a warning, this is rather silly and even sweet, but oh well.

As an aside, I highly doubt the song used here was performed, but for the sake of this, it was! :-)

It was less than ten minutes before we'd been set to take the stage of Chicago's _International Ampitheatre_, but like the others, the last thing on me mind was our show that night; it was the _'Day After John Lennon had to eat His Fuckin' Pride to save Us all'_, as he'd put it. Diggin' a hand into me pocket, I'd knocked on their dressin' room door before headin' in. As was my habit, I'd managed to both dress meself with more than enough time to have a fag or two...or three with Mal before headin' down the brightly lit corridor.

It'd been unusually sombre and quiet when I'd entered the room, though I'd been greeted with the usual rumble of, "Alright, Liz?" from one of 'em when I'd made me way past Neil. Paul and Ringo were finishin' up a game of poker off to the side and George'd been leanin' back in one of the musard coloured sofas which had lined the walls, guitar on his knee. When he'd caught sight of me, a slow smile had covered his face, and had furrowed his brows playfully in mine direction before lookin' over to another sofa where John'd been sittin', long legs propped on the coffee table in front of him. Without openin' his eyes, John had brought a thinly rolled joint to his lips and took a drag.

It hadn't taken a fuckin' genius to figure out that he was in a sour mood, not that I could blame him -- if I'd had to sit in front of a entire room of fuckin' journalists, apologisin' for a comment that'd been taken throughly out of context, I'd have been in a right sour mood as well. At times like those, the only way to get John out of mood liks the one he'd been in was to rile him enough so he'd blow his top, call you all sorts of foul names so that you were considerin' breakin' a chair over his head, just so's he could get the vitriol out of his system. Even girl that I'd been had not been immune from havin' to deal with the brunt of John's mouthin' off at times, though I was never above givin' back as good as I got.

However, that particular day, havin' only recently gotten on what Johnny boy would later describe as a "love cloud", though with the dark-haired lad with the toothy grin and thick eyebrows sittin' in front of me rather than a shorter Japanese woman who'd had more hair on her head than me fella had on his entire body, I hadn't been in the mood to get John to his boilin' point so the mood could be lightened a bit. 'Sides, I'd known that within hour of finishin' the show, we'd be back at our suite and that Mal would've collected a flock of tall leggy blondes for John to amuse himself with for the remainder of the evenin'.

That'd raise Johnny boys spirits more than I'd felt comfortable ruminatin' on!

"You look right fetchin' this evenin', Mr. Starkey." I'd said to Ringo with a grin when I'd taken note of the rings on his fingers lookin' especially buffed and shiny.

"Quite flash, yeah? Nearly blinded me with the state of his hands he did." Paul had said, givin' Ringo one of his winningnest smiles.

"It's alright, Paulie, no one's takin' yer title as 'The Cute One' away from ya," Ringo had said with a bright grin before lookin' at me with an even brighter one. "Ta very much, Dizzy Miss Lizzy."

"And may I say that your rings are lookin' especially shiny today. Special occassion or somethin'?"

"Seein' as this is our last tour, I figured I should make an effort."

"Well we won't have to worry 'bout anyone bein' able to sees ya, will we?" John had said before he'd sat up, and then had taken a quick drag of his joint before rubbin' in a bit on an ashtray. I'd exchanged looks with both Ringo and Paulie who'd only shrugged a bit before Paulie'd looked over in Mal's direction, obviously havin' a thought similar to mine.

A knock had come on the door seconds later, and within minutes we were makin' our way down another corridor, albeit darker, towards the stage. Pullin' the strap of me guitar over my shoulder, I'd caught the others' bits and pieces of conversation; Ringo chatterin' with Neil ahead, the end of a comment Paulie'd made to Mal which sounded somethin' like "Make sure they have legs up to their arm pits" and castin' a look over me shoulder, oddly enough I saw George speakin' hurriedly to John in a quiet voice as they trailed behind us together: John had been smilin' as had been George.

With a comment which I'd been sure was disparagin' of some sort, John had chuckled a bit before movin' past me towards Paulie, stoppin' to tell us, "Hurry, hurry, hurry, young Liz! Mustn't keep yer screamin' fans waitin'!"

"What's he goin' on 'bout?" I'd asked George when he'd siddled up by me. The distinct roar of the fans was growin' louder and louder with each step.

"Never you mind, lovie luv luv." He'd whispered against my ear and I'd felt his breath teasin' my ear lobe a bit. I hadn't been able to keep me face from feelin' a wee bit hot even while lookin' 'round to make sure we weren't bein' gaped at. We still hadn't really come out in the open with havin' finally taken up with each other.

"Cool it, you randy bastard." I'd said to him with a quirk of an eyebrow and his only reply had been a grin.

"Pot, kettle." His look had been right lecherous and I figured he must've learned a thing or two from Johnny boy over the years. When he'd leaned over to kiss the side of me neck, his breath hot and ticklish against it, he'd been lucky he'd managed to move out of the way quickly enough or else he'd have gotten an elbow in his ribs. He'd chuckled as I'd wrapped me fingers 'round the neck of the guitar and legged it.

The instant we made our way on the stage, the crowd had roared 'round us and deafened us out. In his usual way, Paulie had approached the mic to the delight of the hundreds of screamin' young girls who littered 'round and went 'bout tellin' all how lovely it was to be there and all that. Minutes later, we'd gone into "Day Tripper", my fingers skimming over the frets.

Towards the end of our set, John had approached the mic and went 'bout introducin' the next song we'd be performing. The tension from earlier not as obvious on his face; the blighter looked like he was enjoyin' himself what with that smile on his face and all. Lookin' to my left to Rings, I'd seen the same amused look on his face that I'd imagined was on mine, and I saw him lightly tapping the high hat on his drum as John's voice boomed 'round the Ampitheatre.

"...for our next number we'll be performing a song by the Everly Brothers. George!" This had been news to me, and worried I'd look like a bleedin' idiot up there, seein' as I had no bloody clue what song John was talkin' about, and based on the look that covered Paulie's face, I gathered he didn't know what was goin' on either. John's smile was wide when he looked over his shoulder at us as he and George stood on either side of the mic and then started strummin' a song that I knew we all recognised instantly "'Til I Kissed You".

At least it'd had been a song we'd known!

_Never felt like this until I kissed you. How did I exist until I kissed you?_

George and John's voices melded together nicely, and sharin' a smile with Paulie as the crowd of fans screamed along, I knew he agreed.

_Never knew what I missed until I kissed you, uh huh. I kissed you, oh yeah._

_Mmm you gotta a way about you, now I can't live without you._

Gettin' caught up in the fun of playin' a song by a pair that we were all so fond of, I concentrated on my picking and keepin' the hot bright lights out of my eyes. When they were 'bout to hit the bridge that one of 'em would be takin' the lead on, I'd looked back at John and George whose sides were facing the audience as they shared the same mic, and I'd caught George lookin' at me out of the corner of his eye. The smile on his face was wide enough, teasin' enough to make my insides feel all funny and quickly wet me lips which'd gone dry.

_You don't realiiiise what you do to me. And I didn't realise what a kiss could be..._ And the bastard had winked at me.

_Mmmm you've got a way about you, now I can't live without you. Never knew what I missed 'til I kissed you, uh huh. I kissed you, oh yeah..._

As John and George had finished, the crowd had roared in approval and it was all I could do to keep a straight face. I'd refused to look at anyone for the remainder of the set, and later on as we were makin' out way out of the venue, I'd managed to whack George in the stomach after he'd pulled me 'round a corner to kiss me between soft laughter.

"Mmm, you've got a way 'bout youuuu, now I can't live without youuuu. Never knew what I missed 'til I kissed yaaaa," he'd breathed into my ear, hands tight on me hips. Peckin' the tip of me nose, he'd smiled once last time before turnin' on his heel and pulled us back in to the corridor. Luckily we hadn't been missed, and seein' as we didn't get any knowin' looks thrown our ways, I doubted they'd known what me and George'd been up to only seconds before.

Once we'd been sittin' in the car across from John and George, Paulie sandwiched between me and Rings, I'd been unable to not laugh when a silly-grin wearin' John and George'd started hummin' the song, Georgie lookin' at me quickly with a subtle quirk of his eyerbrow that he knew I found quite naff, and Ringo began tappin' out the beat on his knees.

_Never had you on my mind, now you're there all the time..._

For havin' had such a shitey day the day before, the evenin' had ended a lot more light-hearted than we'd probably expected. Good memory that.


	2. The Interview: Gap Filler #2

**Title**: The Interview: Gap Filler #2

I don't really know what to think/say about this one really. If the first one was the cutesy/sweet one, this one isn't. But it felt right to address it, because at least in this AU, Liz was around for almost everything...good and bad, happy and not-so-much.

As always, all comments are appreciated.

A feelin’ of discomfort settled in the pit of me stomach as I made the trek towards the Rhone home on foot. The logical part of me brain was wonderin’ why the bloody hell I hadn’t taken the bleedin’ bus, but the not-so-logical part of me brain appreciated havin’ a wee bit of time to think as I made me way towards a house I didn’t feel too keen on goin’...especially considerin’ why I was goin’ in the first place.

“Bloody hell,” I’d muttered under me breath, the heels of me school shoes clickin’ against the pavement, “what am I goin’ to say to her then? Sorry ‘bout the baby, Dot, here’s a nice trifle for your trouble?” I’d looked down at the tightly covered bowl in me hands. I’d sighed, not even half-way to her place and already feelin’ to the pit of me gut that me Dad sendin’ down had been a perfectly shite idea on his part. What good would I be to her at a time like this?

Fifteen minutes later, even though I’d tried to take me time of it, I’d turned onto her road and before I knew it, I’d been raisin’ me hand to knock on her door. I did it all quiet like, hopin’ that no one would answer and I’d be able to bail out there, probably make a dent in this here trifle as I took the bus home to me house in Allerton. However, despite the quietness of the knock, the door had been opened and I’d been facin’ Dot very tired lookin’ mum. _Paul, you git, you should be here, not me. _

“Hullo, Mrs. Rhone.” I’d said to her, givin’ her what I’d hoped to be a pleasant enough smile.

“Here to see our Dot are ya?” She’d said, lookin’ at me the unwelcomin’ way I imagined she’d fancy lookin’ at me brother if he was here. S’ppose I’m the next best thing.

I’d nodded her, prob’ly a bit too quickly and then cleared me throat. “Err...me dad sent this, Mrs. Rhone,” and I’d handed the covered bowl to her, and without waitin’ for her to ask, I’d set ‘bout removin’ me coat and hung it by the door with the others. Dot’s mum had looked at me for a moment, probably disapprovin’ of me in my school uniform which she mayn’t have thought was appropriate for a call this like this, and then she’d started headin’ in the direction of her kitchen.

“Can I offer ya a cuppa, Liz?”

“No thanks, Mrs. Rhone, I’m ok. Would it be alright to go up to Dot’s?” She’d looked at me another bit or so before noddin’ hastily and that’d been it.

I’d done me best to be quiet as I made me way through their house, and when I’d stood outside Dot’s door, I’d knocked quietly before makin’ me way in. “Dot, it’s me...Liz,” I’d said as I’d crossed the doorway, and I’d found her sittin’ in a chair by her window, fingers wrapped ‘round the lacy white curtains. She’d obviously seen me comin’ up the way.

“Hi, Liz,” she’d said to me quietly in that soft voice of hers. She’s been wrapped in a quilt of sorts, and when she’d looked up at me, it’d been with a deep sadness in her eyes. You can always tell y’know, when someone’s lost someone they loved very much. There’s a quiet grief ‘round their eyes, a soft turn to their mouths that can’t be due to anythin’ else. You can always tell, even when you don’t really want to..._bloody hell Paul_ had been the only legible thought goin’ through me head and it’d been everythin’ I could do to not turn on my heel, head downstairs and leg it out of there.

“Errr...how are you doin’, Dot?” I’d asked her and I’d instantly regretted it. It’d just been so...fuckin’ inadequate._ How are you doin’ Dot? How do you expect her to be doin’ you daft bint, jumpin’ over the moon? Dancin’ a jig down the corridor?_

Dot had smiled at me softly and I’d seen her wrap her quilt more tightly ‘round her, and for whatever daft reason she’d reminded me a lot of a baby deer I’d seen once when I was quite young. I’d been walkin’ through the woods with Mike when we’d come across a baby deer and it’s Mum. At the sight of us, the mum had tossed it’s head this way and that, and had taken off...but the baby deer hadn’t. It’d stood there, watchin’ us quietly as if tellin’ us, “I know ya can really hurt me if you want to, but I know ya won’t,” and then after a minute or so, it’d followed in the direction its mum had gone in. That’s how Dot had looked at me, a mixture of trustin’ and a bone-deep weary sadness that made me stomach twist in discomfort ‘cos I didn’t know what to do, or if it would even be enough.

“I’ll be right as rain ‘for you knows it, Liz.” And Dot’s smile had grown a little, and I knew that she meant it.

“I brought a trifle...err, me Dad sent it, it’s downstairs with your Mum. He knows how fond you are of ‘em.”

“That’s very nice of him, Liz. Please send him my thanks will you?” And her voice had grown quiet, and she’d looked out the window again, holdin’ the lacy curtain tightly.

The silence had been thick in that dark room and I’d revelled in it, preferrin’ it over the inevitable questions that my visit would bring up. _Where_ and _When_ and _Why, Why, Why?_ I didn’t know what I would say, could say really, to make this any easier...as if I even could, even if I wanted to.

“I was thinkin’ of goin’ to hear ‘em play tomorrow or the night after, what do ya think?” She’d asked me suddenly, breakin’ the quietness that I’d wanted to clutch and not let go while I’d stood there.

“Oh...that’d be fab, Dot,” I’d said to her because I hadn’t known what else I could. Soother of the McCartney clan I was not.

Dot had asked me about my day a bit, how I was enjoyin’ the sixth form, bits and pieces of things she already probably knew or at least suspected, but I answered quickly, and had then felt like a right cunt for wantin’ nothin’ more than to ‘flee’ the scene as it was, ‘specially considerin’ the reason for the sadness pourin’ off the girl in waves was because she’d lost me brother’s baby only days before. What kind of bloody person did that make me?

“We were thinkin’ of the name Patrick, ya know.” Dot had said at last, still lookin’ out of the window at the people passin’ by on the pavement. _No, ya daft bint, she’s not lookin’ out her window to keep an eye on the people comin’ and going...she’s waitin’. Bloody hell, she’s waitin’_. Paulie and me had always been great mates, gettin’ on unusually well for a northern boy and his sister, but it was times like these when I was face to face with that Ted’s faults, which sometimes seemed so inconsequential next to his virtues. Has he even come to see her since the day he went to the hospital after it happened? I caught the vase filled with what I’d assumed to be his flowers out of the corner of me eye.

Somethin’ had told me he hadn’t.

“Patrick. That’s a good name, that.” What I wouldn’t have given for a fag.

Dot had nodded and curlin’ into a ball on her chair, she’d tucked the quilt tighter ‘round her, soft blonde hair lookin’ fragile and downy as a little chick’s. I could see that she’d pulled her knees to her chest. “Paul was convinced it was goin’ to be a little boy.” I was a wee bit startled when I heard the small laugh come from her throat. “ ‘We have to think of a good name for ‘im, Dot’ he said to me ‘our first baby, we have to think of somethin’ grand’. And Patrick sounded so right, ya know?” And Dot had looked up me expectantly, eyes glassy even in the dark.

I’d nodded, despisin’ meself for hesitatin’ so.

“Can ya imagine what he would’ve looked like, Liz? This tiny little wee thing with Paul’s hair and eyes and my nose...poor mite.” When Dot’d started cryin’, me feet had been stuck to the ground. I hadn’t known what to say to her, just like the night a few days past when I’d woken up and even if the darkness of me room I’d been able to make out the figure of me brother sittin’ against the wall, smellin’ of pub, and playin’ the guitar softly. He’d told me quietly, flatly about what had happened, and knowin’ him, the last thing he’d wanted was a hug or anythin’ of the sort. Instead, I’d pulled taken one of me pillows and tossed it to me feet. I’d pulled the cover aside and made room. Head and tailin’ it we’d lain there for hour before we’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t been there the next mornin’ and hadn’t been home much since then either.

That’d been different though, I hadn’t felt comfortable comin’ close to her, doin’ me best to comfort her. I didn’t know how, bloody hell, I hadn’t know what to do. I’d been closed off for so long...that I just didn’t know how.

“I’m sorry, Dot. I wish there was somethin’ I could tell ye...but I...” My words had trailed off and I’d cleared my throat uncomfortably, feelin’ like I’d done nothin’ more than fuck this up even more than it already was.

Dot had nodded quietly and I saw her wipe her face with the quilt. I’d looked away to give her the privacy to do so without bein’ stared at. “Will he come, Liz? Do you think he’ll come?” She’s asked me, voice small and tired as if she was dreadin' the thought that he wouldn't, her fingers skimmin’ the curtain. I’d felt a tightness in my throat that I hadn’t felt in a while.

“I don’t know, Dot,” I’d answered her at last, and I’d heard a tremor in my voice that I hadn’t known I was still capable of. Maybe it hadn’t been the right thing to say, but it was honest. Dot had looked up at me, seemin’ to understand me better in that minute that I probably understood meself. While I’d stood there, blinkin’ away a mist in me eyes that I hadn’t quite known what to do with, she’d turned back to look out the window, and I knew me eyes weren’t foolin’ me when I saw her mouth a name belongin’ to no one into the air.


	3. Gap Filler # 3:

**The Interview: Gap Filler # 3**

I promise that I won't dedicate myself solely to posting non-cutesy/amusing fillers, but as with the previous one, it seemed like this was also something that should be written about. Hopefully you'll agree.

Paulie’d asked me stop by his house in St. John’s Wood. “There’s somethin’ I want you to hear, Lizzy. I want to hear what you think of it.”

“Can’t you just play me a bit over the telephone, Paulie? It’s past eleven, mate,” I’d sighed into the telephone clutched loosely in my hands, rubbing my eyes tiredly.

“It’s important, Liz.” His voice had been both soft but determined.

“Isn’t John the one you usually ring when you have these fits of inspiration?” I’d asked a bit testily, knowin’ that John’d become unavailable, and what he wasn’t unavailable he had a short black-haired shadow at his side that I knew Paulie hadn’t been too fond of.

“Stop bein’ a drag,” Paul had answered with a bit of a laugh, and I’d sighed once again. I’d known that if I didn’t go down as asked, I’d have nothin’ more to look forward to than intermittent telephone calls for the remainder of the night until George picked up to mumble “Fuck off, Paul”, unless I’d decided to leave a head piece off its hook. But much as the idea held vast amounts of appeal, I didn’t want to aggravate the already heavy situation between me brother and husband, so I sighed...again.

“Fine, but there’d better a pot of tea and a plate of sarnies waitin’ for me, you wanker.”

And so fifteen minutes after havin’ pulled on my boots and heavy wool coat – it’d been bloody December for fuck’s sake -- as well as havin’ dropped a kiss on George’s head, swiftly movin’ out of the way before he could wrap an around ‘round me waist to convince me to not go out on a cold winter’s night like that one, I’d slid behind the wheel of my Jaguar, and drove the short distance from Esher to north London.

The tension that’d existed in the band during late ’68 has been well documented by what seems like one n’ all, so it’d hardly be worth mentionin’ my overwhelmin’ sense of both frustration and curiosity at bein’ asked by Paulie...literally summoned was more like it, to drop by his house to hear a song he’d written. That enough had been a bit of curious business; I wasn’t and had never been the one that Paul’d written his songs with, that’d been John. Sure, by that time, I’d been arrangin’ orchestral bits with George Martin; I’d figured that’d had be it – me and my cello or violin would be makin’ an appearance of sorts on whatever song Paul had come up with.

In that moment as I’d manoeuvred my car through the dark city streets, I could see what all of John and George’s mumblin’s ‘bout being nothing better than glorified session musicians was all ‘bout.

When I’d turned the car onto Cavendish Avenue, I’d done my best to suppress the heavy groan that near jumped out of my gob when I’d caught sight of the dozen or so girls wrapped up in coats who’d been huddled ‘round the wood gate. “For fuck’s sake, it’s bloody freezin’ out there. Don’t they ever go home? Mad dollies.” Just another blessin’ for livin’ out in the country – not havin’ fans camped outside your home at that hour of the night – you didn’t know whether to call the bobbies on ‘em or send down cups of tea and hot chocolate.

“Hullo girls, mind lettin’ me through please?” I’d asked politely after pullin’ my head out the window, wind bittin’ my cheeks. There’d been a loud bit of chatter as I’d done me best to manoeuvre the car forward once they’d cleared the way.

“Liz! Liz! When’s that Yank bitch goin’ back home?! Why’s she still here?!” I’d heard one of the huddled fans yell in my direction, only to be joined with another three or four, “Yeah, when’s that tart goin’ home eh?!”

I’d given the lot a thoroughly exasperated look as I’d leaned over to the small intercom and had pushed the button. Soon as I’d heard the small click on other end, I’d said, “It’s Liz, open the gate will ya?” I hadn’t bothered sayin’ anythin’ like, “Night girls” or “Isn’t it too late for dollies like you to be out?” or even “Don’t youse have nothin’ better to do than camp outside a fella’s house whom you’ve never met?”, instead I’d pulled the window up and gunned it up the drive soon as I could, probably leavin’ bits of flyin’ pebbles in my wake.

When I’d turned the key in the ignition, I’d seen that the front windows were all brightly lit, but I hadn’t thought much of it. I’d slid out of the car, and tuckin’ my hands into me pockets, I’d walked up the drive and up the front steps in the cold black-as-pitch night. I’d caught the soft chant of “Go home, Yank! Go home!” from the other side of the gate which’d shut quickly behind me as soon as the boot of me car’d made it through.

“Shit,” the voice in my head had whispered, “is this what Linda has to deal with day in n’ out? Those bloody cows.” I’d felt an onslaught of sympathy for the American bird who’d come to stay with Paul a few months before – I hadn’t known her very well, but I’d felt a bit of pity for the hell those bints were givin’ her for not bein’ a certain ginger haired actress.

I hadn’t even had to raise my hand to knock on the door, it’d been opened in a flash and I’d almost been knocked to the ground by an overly enthusiastic Martha who’d gone for me knees like the cheeky minx she was.

“Evenin’ Liz,” Paul had said to me, eyes bright with laughter as he saw my attempts to not be knocked to the ground and covered in doggy saliva as Martha washed me face in doggy kisses.

“Martha what terrible manners ya have, no better than yer git of an owner” I’d said while leanin’ forward to give her a bit of a scratch behind her ears and was answered with a resoundin’ woof. I’d laughed despite meself, but whatever humour I’d had about bein’ attacked by me brother’s horridly mannered dog was cut short when I’d caught another round of “Go home, Yank! Go home!” from the other side of the gate.

“What happened to all the nice little girls who wanted nothin’ more than to see what kinda milk the milkman brought you? Who replaced ‘em with that lot out there?”

Paul had shrugged, and rolled his eyes when he heard the noise they were makin’ outside. “It’s been like that for a while now. You get used to it.” Callin’ Martha to come inside, he’d moved to let me pass and had shut the door behind me and had hung my coat in a cupboard by the entryway.

He’d led me to the kitchen, where as I’d warned him, he had a fresh pot of tea and plate filled with sarnies waitin’ for me. He’d told me that both Linda and her daughter Heather were sleepin’ upstairs and filled me in on what he’d gotten up to during the day after askin’ after George and whatnot. When we’d turned to head to his studio upstairs, I’d seen that the house was decorated for Christmas – not the right posh arrangements that Jane’d set ‘bout for Crimbo the two years past, but a much...homier sort of thing. Paul hadn’t said anythin’ about it as we’d made our way up the stairs, pot of tea and plate of sarnies held in each, tellin’ Martha to be quiet, as I hadn’t asked.

Paulie’s studio/music room had all sorts fancy gadgets and machines, and was where he housed all his guitars, piano flush against the wall. It’d been a comfortable sort of place, littered with cushions and stacks upon stacks of records which only Paul’d seemed he could keep track of. Cup in hand, I’d sat meself in the small sofa he kept, crossin’ one leg over the other and looked up at him with what I’d assumed to be a bit of an expectin’ sort of look. It was late, it was colder than a witch’s tit outside, and I’d have much rather been curled up on the sofa with Georgie while we ate beans on toast.

He’d scratched his full beard a bit before he’d headed over to the piano, takin’ a drink of tea before settin’ it to the side. His side had been facin’ me as he’d turned to tell me, “I want you to hear somethin’ I’ve been workin’ on for a few days – I haven’t played it for anyone yet mind. I’m thinkin’ off addin’ it for consideration for the next LP.”

Paul had scratched the back of his head and had rubbed his nose a bit before he’d taken a seat on the piano bench, bare toes settin’ on the pedals. “Tell us what you think, ok?” He’d said as he’d looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and I’d nodded, quickly drinkin' down my tea and settin' the cup on the floor by my ankle.

“I ain’t afraid to tell you when your songs are shite, Brother Paul,” I’d replied cheekily and he’d given a bit of a shrug before curlin’ his fingers in that way we’d been taught be our Dad and started playin’. The notes had been sombre and quiet, and then he’d started singin’.

‘When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, “Let it Be”/ And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me/ Speaking words of wisdom, “Let it Be, Let it Be, Let it Be, Let it Be”. Whisper words of wisdom, “Let it Be”...’

_I haven’t done anythin’ to them, Mummy. Why are those girls in my form bein’ so mean? Let it be, Lizzy. Let it be, luv. It’ll get better, just you mind your temper. Mummy, my skin’s itchy! I need to scratch, please! Just a little one, I promise! Let it be, Lizzy – don’t you know if you scratch those bumps you’ll have scars? Do you fancy looking poxy, luv? When are you comin’ home from the hospital, Mummy? You’ve been here for days and days – are they holdin’ you prisoner?! Do me, Paulie, and Mike need to break you out like in the American pictures? Let it be, Liz, don’t be silly, you mad girl. No one’s holdin’ me prisoner here – you and your imagination! _

With each proclamation of those three simple little words, I’d felt roll after renewed roll of grief. It’d started in the pit of me stomach, travelled up my intestines, past my ribcage and then settled heavily in my heart, twistin’ and turnin’ it so. Twelve years – fuck, she’d been dead for twelve fuckin’ years and it’d hurt just like it had in the beginnin’ before I’d learned to suck it up, keep it in, and get on with it. I hadn’t known I was cryin’ until I’d felt the splash of hot tears on the back of my hands, and then I’d quickly started blinkin’ them away.

And Paul had kept goin’ on and on and I’d wanted to open up me mouth to tell him to stop, to ask him what the fuck he was playin’ at. I hadn’t been able to. When I’d tried to open me gob to speak, I hadn’t been able to speak a word, only sit there staring at him dumbly with what felt like a neverendin’ stream of hot tears coursin’ down me face. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He’d stopped suddenly, and when he’d turned to look at me, I knew I must’ve looked quite a fright, but I’d overcome my embarrassment at breakin’ down so, and glared at him angrily, wipin’ the end of my leaky nose with the back of my jumper. _How the fuck dare he? Makin’ me come all the way here to here all that?!_ I’d been about to let him have it, call him every foul name I’d ever learned, when he caught my eye, and fuck, I’d seen the exact same grief in his eyes that I’d imagined were mirrored in mine.

“I dreamt about her, Lizzy,” he’d said to me quietly, and after rubbin’ me eyes forcefully, I’d seen the glassiness in his. “She was wearin’ her little nurse’s cap, you remember the one don’t you?” And I’d nodded, clutchin’ the sodden bit of my jumper to me nose, eyes quickly fillin’ again as I’d remembered the ugly nurse’s cap she’d had to wear. “It was great to be ‘round her again, Liz. I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again.” And his voice had broken in a way that’d made my heart ache all the more because I’d known what he’d meant.

Paul and I’d sat facin’ each other, a few feet separating our bent knees, for a few minutes as each of us felt what I can now only call long-suppressed grief. His shoulders shook as he’d bent his head down, hands clutched tightly in front of him, and it was a while yet before the storm settled for both of us. When he’d looked up at me again, black hair fallin’ over his forehead, I’d seen the red flush over the bridge of his nose that I imagined was on mine.

We looked at each other for a long time, our breath was the only sound between us as I looked over the eye brows that were so like mine and the dark hair that I shared too, that the both of us...had shared with her. “Did she say anything, Paulie?” I’d asked at last, unable to help myself or the little quiver in my voice as the words’d come out.

Paul had nodded at me, “She told me '_It’s going to be alright, son. All of it will be alright, just let it be_'. I’d know what he meant; the tension, the occasional coldness, the subdued nature of it all – and the end of it, _it would all be alright_.

I’d nodded at him, lettin’ him know that I understood completely, because I had. And in the quiet stillness of that room, I’d reached a hand over towards him, palm up, and lookin’ back, he’d wrapped his fingers through mine, and squeezed.


	4. : The Interview: Gap Filler # 4

**Title:**: The Interview: Gap Filler # 4

The good news is that this one isn't not-so-happy like the past two Gap Fillers. So no tissue will be needed! At least, I hope not! :-)

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I’d said to the woman who’d been hoverin’ over me, applyin’ what seemed like the twentieth coat of eyespackle to my eyes. My eyelids had fluttered in pain as she’d proceeded rubbin’ the eye shadow, ignorin’ my words. “Err…excuse me, did you –“

“Mr. Epstein said that it was my duty to prepare you this evening,” she’d answered shortly, makin’ me sound as if I was some sort of sacrificial lamb goin’ to be eaten by a throng of hungry wolves. I couldn’t help glarin’ at her in the mirror, and had mentally told meself that I’d be givin’ Brian a piece of my mind for hoistin’ her off on me. I hadn’t recognised the person starin’ back at me from the mirror. The bird had too pale a face, stick straight hair, a massive fake eyelash the size of a tarantula hangin’ off one eye while that dratted woman worked on the other, eyes rimmed in what looked like the bits and pieces of charcoal artists sketched with, and almost white mouth. The girl in the mirror didn’t look nothin’ like me at all, and I hadn’t fancied havin’ so much green eye colour goop on me lids.

Gone was the guitarist with the fitted Saville Row suits who’d usually only ever pushed her hair to the side with a few pins and went ‘round in black Ray Bans wayfarers. When I’d been young, my Dad, much freedom as he’d given me growin’ up, had drawn the line at lettin’ us slather on makeup – “I won’t have ya lookin’ like a tart, Lizzy,” he’d said sternly to me when I’d asked ‘bout it once, and I’d agreed. Though makeup favoured some people, I hadn’t really considered meself one of ‘em, and now that I’d been forced to sit in that bloody chair while this mad-eyed bint poked and prodded at me face as if I was some overgrown dolly, I’d been even more sure of it.

I’d only been able to imagine the comments I’d get tossed me way when I headed downstairs to meet my other band mates – “Fuckin’ hell, will you stop pokin’ me eye?! I need it ya know!” I’d exclaimed not-too-politely (me Auntie Gin wouldn’t have hesistated to rap the back of my knuckles with a tea doilley for speakin’ so to an old broad) to the woman who stopped to look at me none too happily.

“If you stopped moving, miss, I wouldn’t keep pokin’ yer eye as you put it,” she’d said cooly, and I’d stiffened at her takin’ the mickey out of my northern accent.

“Well if you stopped rubbin’ me eye so I wouldn’t have to move ‘round so much, now would I?” I’d answered with a quirk of my eye brow – which she’s filled in with some brown powdery thing, and which made them even more obvious than they usually were. She hadn’t answered, instead pressin’ down the last bit of eyelash which made my lids feel heavy and wonder how the bleedin’ hell I’d manage to keep ‘em open during the entirety of this dratted premiere.

Maybe I’d manage to take a wee kip in the theatre? I’d mentally reminded meself to sit on the other side of Richie that evenin’ since I knew from personal experience that he had a damned comfortable shoulder, bein’ the same height and all. ‘Sides, I’d known that Mo wouldn’t mind if I used her fella’s shoulder as a cushion.

When the horrid woman had finally finished inflictin’ her damage on my face – and seriously questionin’ the sanity of those birds who had the patience to sit in front of a mirror for what’d felt like hours and hours pokin’ and proddin’ at their faces to catch some fella’s eye – she’d told me in her clipped voice, “I’ll be helping you get dressed now –“

“It’s really not necessary—“

“I wasn’t asking you, miss. Mr. Epstein said that I’d be helping you get dressed for tonight’s premiere, so if you please.” She’d looked at me all superior-like and I’d done me best to watch me gob and not start mouthin’ off on her. Brian would have kittens if _Beatle Liz Vents Wrath on Poor Dresser_, so I bit me tongue, not ‘cos I was scared of Brian, but ‘cos I’d undoubtedly receive a ring from my Auntie Dill, Dad’s other sister, about lettin’ fame go to me head and goin’ about bein’ rude to people. The last thing I needed was a well-meanin’ ring from either or me Aunties.

I’d pulled off my robe until I stood in nothin’ more than a slip. The woman came behind me and pulled a light green mini dress over me, takin’ a care to not let it get caught in the hair she’d watched a hairdresser spend what’d felt like hours makin’ straight as a board. “Wouldn’t you say that you look quite nice?” She’d asked me while she’d buttoned the back of it and I’d shrugged a bit, feelin’ like nothin’ more than a bloody fashion doll.

“Can I at least put me shoes on by meself or do I have to sit down to let ya? Even we Northerners know how to put our shoes on,” I’d said tersely, and not waitin’ for her to answer, I’d sat meself down and went ‘bout me business. When the bloody hell will Neil come up to collect me?! For fuck’s sake if he’s not here in five minutes I’ll take meself downstairs, fans foamin’ at the mouth or not!

Someone upstairs must’ve heard the thoughts goin’ through me head ‘cos in less time than I’d known, I’d heard Neil makin’ his way into my suite. Figurin’ that good manners never hurt no one, I’d thanked the woman for her help and left. “Are you comin’ Liz? We have to be at Piccadilly Circus in less than an hour,” Neil had called over his shoulder, havin’ been flickin’ through a fashion mag that’d been layin’ around.

“Yeah. Is everyone waitin’ for me downstairs for a change?” I’d asked, momentarily catchin’ sight of meself in a full length mirror along the wall, and felt an inklin of discomfort as I’d been confronted, fully confronted, with the fact that I looked nothin’ like meself. For one, I don’t think I’d ever shown so much fuckin’ leg in me life – I should’ve known better than to have let Cyn and Mo arrange for something’ for me. And the makeup, damn it, the makeup. I’d never had so much of that shit on me face before…I couldn’t wait to have the chance to wipe some of it off.

Neil had turned to look at me and for a minute his eyes had gone all round and googly-eyed. “Hey, what the fuck is you lookin’ at?” I’d glared at him when I caught him starin’ at me naked legs, havin’ decided to not wear stockings on a summer’s night like that one.

When Neil’s eyes had met mine he’d started gigglin’ and it was all I could do to not pummel him with one of the over-stuffed cushions which’d laid all over that swank hotel suite. “Just wait until they get a look at you!” Neil had exclaimed with a huge smile on his face.

“Don’t fuckin’ rub it in, mate.”

“You do look very nice, Liz. Nothin’ like that guitar totin’ bird we all know and love!”

“You make it sound as if I don’t know how to dress meself. I can’t help but wonder what I ever did to Cyn, Mo, and Brian to conspire to make me look like a tart.”

Neil had shaken his head in my direction, tuckin’ his hand into the pocket of his trousers. “You don’t look like a tart, Lizzy. You look nice…different, but very fashionable. Come on, they’re all waitin’ for you downstairs. Shouldn’t keep the fans waitin’, luv.”

Givin’ him a bit of a disbelievin’ look, I’d followed him out of the suite and to the lobby.

“Look at what we have here!” John had yelled halfway across the room as soon as he’d caught sight of me. That daft git had known a chance to take the mickey when he saw it! One by one, the other members of our group had turned to look at me and decidin’ then and there that I could either go with it or spend the entire evenin’ glaring at the lot of ‘em, I’d decided to enjoy meself, and get sloshed as soon as we were rushed to the Orchid Room at the Dorchester swiftly after the film premiere.

“Will you look at the dollypegs on young Liz here? You’ve been holdin’ out on us, luv.” John had said all sendin’ an exaggerated lecherous look me way. The four of ‘em had been kitted out in tuxedos as was proper since we’d been due to meet Princess Maggie and her husband.

“I’ve got nothin’ on you, Johnny boy. Meself and the city of Hamburg have all borne witness to you in nothin’ but y-fronts!”

“Yeah, she does pale in comparison to ya, mate.” Richie had interrupted, sendin’ a cheeky smile me way.

“You do have a point there. Macca Jr must’ve gotten tired of bein’ known as ‘that guitar-playin’ bird whose sister to the Cute One’ – she’s aimin’ to make off with your name, Paulie!” John had laughed in Paul’s direction who’d turned to look at me with a hurt expression.

“How could you, Lizzy?! Me own flesh and blood wantin’ to take my only bit of happiness away. Paul, the Cute One…stripped of his title!” The smile on his face had made me want to cripple the bastard, not literally mind – Auntie Gin and Dill, remember?! – but knowin’ full well that Jane wasn’t prepared for the sight of a battered and snivellin’ Paulie, I’d given a wee sigh and laughed along.

“You look very nice, Lizzy!” Jane had smiled at me, lookin’ so put together in her white dress, and Cyn and Mo, who’d both looked quite nice in their get ups, had been overly enthusiastic about my appearance that evening. I’d called them both a pair of cows for conspirin’ with Brian in tartin’ me up, but they’d only laughed at me, provin’ once and for all just what terrible friends they were.

“You’re lucky I’m so fond of Jules, Cyn, or else I’d be done with you!” Cynthia had reached over and given my arm a squeeze before headin’ back over to John. Mo’d given me a wink before tellin’ me that if she saw me headin’ out with some fanciful that she’d keep her mouth shut so I could at least get a proper snog before one of our minders swooped in.

Brian had come over, and ignorin’ the look on me face, had assured me that I looked very smart. I decided to leave the tongue lashin’ ‘bout the bint he’d had assist me in gettin’ read for later.

Finally havin’ been escorted to the waitin’ black Rolls Royce that’d be takin’ the five of us to the Pavilion in Piccadilly, John had swooped in, and had then gone ‘bout callin’ out like the dirty old man he was at heart, “Come inside, little girl.” He’d patted the seat next to him invitingly and made a goonish face when I’d given him a right proper two finger salute, and he’d returned the favour.

“Mind your step, Lizzy,” Ringo’d said to me when I’d been in the process of gettin’ into the car, makin’ a point of keepin’ me knees locked as I’d slid across the seat. I’d given John a triumphant smile when he’d played at tryin’ to look up me skirt.

“Just you try it, John Lennon.” He’d given me a very disappointed look, but it’d been completely foiled by the same playful look in his eyes that I’d imagined had been in mine. True, John could and did play the randy bastard ‘round me, but it was all in good fun, and I’d known that he didn’t mean half the shit comin’ out of his mouth. When George had slid next to me so that I’d been sandwiched between he and Richie, Paul and John across from us, he’d given me a bit of a sweet smile. It’d been nice to be on the receivin’ end of one, ‘specially considerin’ what’d happened with him havin’ me started at me during a snoggin’ session I’d had with a bloke a few weeks before. For a while, those smiles had been few and far between for me.

The London Premiere of **Help** had been…completely bonkers! The road had been blocked off and what’d seemed like a million kids were all over the place, and as soon as we’d exited the Rolls Royce – I’d somehow managed to exit the car without givin’ any of the photographers a view that wouldn’t make a ring from either of me Aunties a guarantee; a visit would’ve been the order of the day!! – the screams had been deafening! The flash of a hundred cameras had been goin’ off every second and when’d finally been able to get inside, I’d let out a sigh of relief.

The film had been mad, as expected, but the audience had loved it, also as we’d expected, and despite havin’ decided earlier to take a bit of a nap, seein’ as I’d been seated between George and Cyn, it hadn’t been much of an option. So I’d suffered along with the rest of us, seein’ ourselves on the big screen actin’ like a group of goons in a film with shite for a plot. The highlight of the ordeal had been the various sidelong looks we’d been sendin’ each other as we recalled just how royally high we’d been durin’ the makin’ of the film, so at least it’d been fun!

When it’d come time to meet Princess Maggie, I’d made a point of not droppin’ me ‘g’s at the end of words and thanked her politely when she complimented my attire. The Aunties would’ve been terribly proud, I’m sure.

From there we’d been rushed from Piccadilly Circle to the party at the Dorchester Hotel, leavin’ a massive crowd of screamin’ fans in our wake. As expected, the party had been brimmin’ with people, quite posh, but knowin’ our tastes, the music had been great and the food and drinks had been flowin’ freely! After three glasses of champagne and a dozen fast-paced dances in an adjoinin’ room with nameless blokes who’d looked at me appreciatively, I’d decided to move past Brian’s hand in gettin’ me the dresser from hell, and to instead enjoy meself thoroughly. And like so often, each of my band mates had been forced to be my dance partner as we moved to the fast dance beat, and I’d known they were all havin’ a grand time.

“Look at you, Lizzy!” Richie had laughed after our third dance, and I’d laughed back in response. “You really do clean up quite nice!” He’d said with a loyal smile, and though I’d given a shake of me head, I’d patted his cheek affectionately. “Mo’ll get ideas ‘bout us if you keep that up!” He’d grinned.

“She knows how I feel ‘bout big neds like yours, Richie!” I’d said with a wink and then feelin’ a combination of good spirits and the effect of the seven…or eight glasses of champagne I’d had by then, I’d giggled and he had too.

As the evenin’ had gone on though, my spirits had dampened somewhat, and that’d been brought ‘bout when I’d caught a look of meself on the clear glass door that led onto a balcony. The bird in the green dress with all that spackle over her face, it hadn’t been me. She looked a hell of a lot like me, but ‘cor, that wasn’t me. I’d slid open the glass partition that led onto the balcony and closed it quickly, wantin’ to keep out of sight as much as possible.

It’d been summer in England, and you could feel it. The heat had clung to my skin as I’d walked the length of the balcony until I stopped in front of the railing. I’d been able to see what felt like the entire city from up there, and I’d taken a moment to catch me breath, clear me head a bit. After hours of talkin’ and noise, the quiet of sittin’ with nothin’ but the nighttime sky for company had been quite nice. Unlike most nights in London, it’d been a rather clear night, and a few stars had managed to peek through.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” George’s voice had asked, and I’d seen that he was makin’ his way towards me. He’d been missin’ his tuxedo jacket.

“Nothin’, just thinkin’ I guess. What ‘bout you? What are you doin’ out there when there are so many girls in there wantin’ to make the company of Beatle George?” I’d asked givin’ him a small smile.

“They’ll be there when I get back. I could ask the same of you, Liz. Regular Miss Popularity you are tonight!” His smile had been wide as he’d stood a few feet away from me, and like me, he’d stared out onto the London skyline.

“Well, you know. It’s me winnin’ personality you see.” I’d answered with a grin. He’d looked at me quietly for less than a second before he’d nodded.

“That’s it then.”

We’d stood for a while together in comfortable silence, neither feelin’ the need to say much of anythin’. In our appreciation for the quiet George and I had been very much alike. While John and Paul couldn’t spend more than five minutes sittin’ still, George and I could spend hours. That’d been very nice.

“Brian couldn’t make it?” He’d asked quickly, and I’d seen him watchin’ me out of the corner of his eye.

“Brian’s inside –“

“Not that Brian, Liz, Brian from the Stones.” I’d looked at him in understandin’.

“No reason for me to invite him. I doubt he’d be into something like this though, too tame for his taste,” I’d answered, givin’ him a bit of an ironic smile.

“Off again?” He’d asked, turnin’ to look at me with his finger wrapped securely ‘round the top of the railing. He’d cocked his head to the side while he’d continued to look at me steadily, waitin’ for me to continue.

“Yeah, for good I think. He’s a nice fella, but you know…”

George had nodded and had then looked away quickly. “Yeah, Brian’s a cool guy. That’s how it goes sometimes, I s’ppose.”

I’d shrugged a bit and returned to lookin’ onto the skyline once again, thinkin’ if I tried hard enough I might be able to see clear to the countryside. I’d stopped and looked up at George suddenly, able to see the outline of his profile in the semi-darkness. “So what ‘bout you? Why didn’t you invite one of your three hundred girlfriends to come – still seein’ the pretty blonde bird you met on set last year…what’s her name, Peggy…Patsy…Patti or sommat?” She’d been a model for a brand of crisps or somethin’ like that.

George had shrugged. “No, not for a while. Didn’t think to ask anyone really – who’d want to go out with a berk like me, eh? What with the Cute Beatle an’ all?” He’d laughed mischievously, and I had too, knowin’ the thought was fuckin’ ridiculous. George was a Beatle, so by nature of that, he could’ve been Quasimodo and would’ve still managed to pull a bird for tonight if he’d really wanted to.

“You’re not a berk, George.” He’d looked at me a bit, the moonlight settlin’ over the angles of his face. His eyes had seemed to be impossibly dark. He’d given me a small smile.

It’d grown quiet again, and instead of enjoyin’ it like before, I’d grown incredibly aware of what’d made me come out here in the first place. Bein’ unable to recognise the girl I’d seen this evenin’, knowin’ it was meself, but not feelin’ it. “I can’t wait to get back to the suite I’m stayin’ in. What I wouldn’t give to wipe all this shit off me face,” I’d said finally, runnin’ a hand through my unusually stick straight hair.

George had looked at me consideringly and I’d felt his dark eyes move over me face; it’d probably been the champagne. I’d had quite a lot. “It’s a bit much…I mean, it’s more than you’ve worn before I guess. But I guess you wanted to make an impression tonight –“

“It wasn’t me, it was bloody Brian. He had a dresser, a right bitch I tell you, come to prepare me for tonight. I can’t blame her for the dress though, that was all Cyn and Mo.” I’d sighed. “I know Brian meant well, and I know that I look better tonight than I’ve ever looked – everyone’s been tellin’ me so! – but have you ever looked at yourself wearin’ some of our fancy suits, and thought to yourself, ‘This isn’t me’. That’s how I feel right now I guess, like it’s not me. And much as I’d like to leg it out of here, I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.” I’d stopped and looked at him evenly. “You think I’m off me rocker, don’t you?”

Seconds passed, ones that’d felt a little unnerving truthfully, before he spoke. The look on his face had been a bit pensive, but I hadn’t been too sure. He’d tucked his hand into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief that Brian always insisted that they carry ‘round on their person. Lookin’ steadily at me, he’d spoken finally.

“I don’t think you’re off your rocker, but yer wrong, Liz. I know how Brian, Cyn, and Mo are, and I agree with ya, they mean well, but look,” he’d cocked his head to the side, lookin’ at me intently, “you’re wrong if you think you need all this stuff on yer face to…if you think tonight’s the best you’ve –“ He’d stopped quickly and I’d heard him clear his throat, his eyebrows had come together a bit. “Here,” he’d said as he’d handed me the carefully folded square. His fingers had brushed mine for a split second as I’d taken the handkerchief, but they’d been gone before I’d known it.

Without lookin’ at him, I’d raised it to me face, and had wiped off a bit of the heavy powder that’d remained there. Once I’d removed enough to feel my skin breathe a bit, I’d looked at him out of the corner of me eye and had seen that he’d been starin’ straight ahead. “Ta very much, George. You’re a great mate, y’know.”

It was seconds before he’d turned to look at me again, but before he did, I could’ve sworn I’d heard the softest mutter of “Mates…right,” under his breath. I’d drunk quite a lot that night though, so I’d put it down to just hearin’ things. “I’m goin’ back inside, I think,” and he’d looked at me expectantly maybe, or maybe just politely? I’d shrugged.

“I’ll be here a while yet.” He’d nodded and then turnin’ on his heel, he’d gone back inside. It hadn’t been until he’d left that I’d noticed the chill in the air and wondered to meself why I hadn’t brought a coat.


	5. The Interview: Gap Filler # 5

**Title**: The Interview: Gap Filler # 5

Yes, here's yet _another_ one, but in my defense, this one was begging to be written, and after still feeling a bit of guilt for the tear-fest that was # 3, I decided to post another one ASAP.

It'll be a few days before another one is posted, but in the meantime, hopefully you'll find this one fitting. And just to be safe, it's rated R.

Returnin’ to Hamburg towards the beginnin’ of what we’d decided would be our last tour had been rather bittersweet. The city that had given the lads their first big break, from the first days when they’d arrived and would play the Indra for hour long sets well into the followin’ morning, had been one of the first few we’d played during that last go as a tourin’ band. What’d been our last performance at some music hall whose name I hadn’t bothered learnin’, had gone fairly alright considerin’ the lot of us were so tired of movin’ around on stage like we were trained monkeys who only played at playin’ instruments since we’d learned long ago that our fans’ screams would and had on more than one occasion drowned out the sound.

Like so many times before, soon as we’d finished our set and had taken our bows, we’d bailed it out of the venue and within minutes had been our way back to our hotel. Like had been our fashion durin’ every tour we’d taken, there’d been a party afterwards in our suite, and like so many of those other nights, it’d been a good time. For the most part, anyhow.

Like all the other parties that’d come before it, the music had been good, the suite had been filled to the brim with the drinks’d been flowin’, and the sweet odour of marijuana had lingered in the air. Old friends like Klaus and Astrid, the latter whom none of us had seen in what’d seemed like ages, had come and it’d been great to see ‘em both again. Like I’d said, it’d had the makings of a right proper great time to be had by all.

I’d danced with a few fellas, and like always, had been a bit amused at their sorta wary way ‘bout me. I’d been Beatle Liz, after all. After havin’ left a rather pretty faced fella on the dance floor so I could get meself a drink from the bar, movin’ quickly so he hadn’t been able to wrap an arm ‘round my waist, I’d caught sight of Johnny boy sittin’ on a sofa, at least have a dozen girls alternately sittin’ and standin’ ‘round him. He’d been layin’ back on that sofa, dark glasses on his nose, and had frankly looked a bit bored, lookin’ like it hadn’t been nothin’ more than a chore to be surrounded by a number of pretty girls kitted out in short skirts, who’d seemed to look for any excuse to reach over and touch him. After havin’ spent the past three years of his life fuckin’ hisself blue in the face from city to city, John Lennon had finally looked bored by it.

I’d earlier come across both me brother and Richie in similar situations, chattin’ up more than one bird at once, though Paulie as had been his custom, had dangled one dolly off his knee while doin’ the chattin’. Already havin’ had three rum and cokes in me system by then, I’d felt a bit of pity for John, the randy bastard, and had walked over to him with one. Soon as he’d caught sight of me, he’d pushed his specs still ‘til they’d hung off the edge of his nose. “Gute Evenin’, Liz!” he’d said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Here ya go, mate. Merry Crimbo to ye!” I’d laughed as I’d leaned over a blonde haired dolly who’d been crouched in front of him, and had pushed the drink into his hand. Raisin’ the glass in me direction, he’d swiftly knocked it back, and then sat back on the sofa to once again bask in the undivided attention of the birds who’d flocked around me. I’d caught one of ‘em givin’ me a bit of a dirty look when I’d approached, but when she’d recognised who it was, she’d instead looked at me all cow eyed. Havin’ grown long accustomed to the noisiness of our gatherin’s, I’d gone off to join Mal on a sofa and after a while, had let another young German bloke take me off for a dance.

A while later, after havin’ caught Paulie givin’ me a mischievous look as he’d taken off with a blonde German bird under his arm, I’d turned to Mal and told him I was headin’ off for some shut eye. Standin’ a bit unsteadily on me feet – by this point, I’d guzzled down at least seven drinks, I’d set off, unable to to contain my small fit of giggle as I’d bumped into person after person. The suite had been packed with people and I’d lost sight of most familiar face by that point.

I’d headed down a dark corridor from which each of our bedrooms jutted. ‘Right,’ I’d muttered to meself as I’d done me best to keep me movements as coordinated as possible – left, right, left – at least until I got to me room, ‘it’s the second room down…no wait, third door…fourth???, fuck…no, it’s the second door.’ When I’d reached the second door, I’d wrapped my fingers ‘round the knob, and had turned it so. Silly, bint, ye left the light switched on! Naughty, naughty Liz! And I’d giggled a little as I’d pushed the door open and made my way in.

When I’d turned, the sight that’d greeted me had winded me. I’d walked in on John fuckin’ a bird before, when you travelled on the road with four guys, as well as two minders, a press agent, and a roadie or two, it was unavoidable to see shite go down that most birds weren’t privy to. Most hang-ups that’d usually existed when it came to girls hadn’t existed anymore ‘round me since I’d taken up John on his offer to join up almost five years before that. But the eyeful I’d caught of George fuckin’ a girl on the bed, her legs tight ‘round his waist as he’d thrust into her roughly as he’d dug his fingers into her hip, had literally knocked the air out of me lungs.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_. I hadn’t realized I’d said this out loud or that I’d probably stood there like a fool for seconds on end, ‘cos next thing I’d known, George had lifted his head from where it’d been buried in her shoulder and he’d looked at me. Even if my blitzed stupor I’d seen the sweat drippin’ down his shoulders, dark-hair damp with sweat, and eyes that’d looked black as night. At the sight of me, the dark-haired girl under him had turned, pullin’ the sheet over her. It’d felt like hours, but I’d known it’d only been a split second.

Before he’d opened his gob to say anythin’, I’d said the first thing that’d popped into me head, “What’re you doin’ in me room?”

He hadn’t moved a centimetre as he’d answered, “Yours is two doors down.”

Uncomfortable with the ache that’d settled in my chest, I’d felt a flush travellin’ up my neck as I’d moved quickly, or as quickly as I could move without havin’ to lean on the wall for support. “Right well...er, sorry ‘bout that, I thought this was – I’ll see ya in the mornin’. Night.”

I hadn’t known how the bloody hell I got to my room, but soon as I’d entered it, I’d shut the door loudly behind me and had quickly changed into my nightgown. “Ya needs to start cuttin’ back on how much you drink at these things,” I’d said to myself, rubbin’ my chest to somehow soothe the ache that’d settled there, thick as curdled milk. In my drunkenness, I’d passed it off to a bad reaction to bad alcohol – fuckin’ German bastards – and decided I’d ask Brian to send for a physician tomorrow if it didn’t lessen. Just as I’d been ‘bout to kip off though, in that fuzzy place that exists between bein’ awake and bein’ off in sleepy land, I’d seen George’s face settle clearly in me thoughts – hair dark with sweat and hangin’ over his forehead, starin’ up at me unflinchingly with eyes darker than I’d ever seen – and in that moment, the ache had almost made me cry out in pain.

“Fuckin’ German drink, see if I ever touch the stuff again.” And I’d fallen asleep, hand tight against my chest.

****

The followin’ mornin’ I’d headed to the common area and seein’ the breakfast cart, I’d helped meself to a strong cup of tea and asked Neil for headache powder. John and Richie had been sittin’ on opposite sides of the same sofa, John havin’ looked a bit pale as he’d held one of the letters Astrid had given him last night, and after exchangin’ brief ‘good mornings’ with ‘em, I’d settled into a chair when Neil handed me what I’d asked.

George had been sittin’ off to the side a bit, a rather moody air ‘bout him which I’d immediately put down to walkin’ in on him naked arsed last night. A half-eaten plate of eggs and empty cuppa had rested on a table at his side. Takin’ a somewhat fortifyin’ drink of tea, and glad that whatever physical effects last night’s terrible German alcohol had wrought on me body was no longer there, I’d settled what I’d imagined to be an amusin’ smile on me face before speakin’ to him, but no loudly enough so that everyone could hear what I had to say. “Oi George?”

He’d looked at me, a flash of somethin’ unfamiliar in his eyes, before they’d returned to as normal as ever. “Yeah?”

“Sorry ‘bout last night, mate. I was sloshed as you could probably tell by the amount of headache powder I’ve poured into my tea, so I didn’t know it was yer room I was goin’ to. I really am sorry.” And in that second or so after I’d said that, I’d realised that despite havin’ always known of all the girls that he and the other lads had gotten off with over the years, that I’d never actually seen the act with me own eyes.

That odd, unreadable kinda look had returned to his eyes before returnin’ to the normal, unbothered expression he usually wore. “Don’t fret ‘bout it, Liz. I’m not.” His smile hadn’t reached his eyes, and he’d set ‘bout askin’ Mal when we’d be headin’ to the airport for our flight to Tokyo, actin’ as unbothered as you’d have usually expected of him, I’d finished me tea, and I’d remembered.

Despite meself I’d remembered the way his body had moved over the dark-haired girl, the way his fingers had tightened on her hips as she’d tightened her legs under his arse. Feelin’ last nights’ familiar ache settle in my chest as the image replayed through me head until I willed it to stop, glad no one could imagine what was goin’ on in my skull, I’d understood finally that I could only blame the alcohol for so much.

In the hours that’d followed, I’d played it cool, somehow managin’ to act like meself so no one could’ve known or suspected. The walls…the walls had been comin’ down, and after so long, I’d had no choice but to let them.

***

“Ordinary passengers! You’re bein’ treated like ordinary passengers!” One of the Filipino guards had said to us as we were jostled from one corner of the transit lounge to another.

“What the fuck’s the matter with all of you?!” I’d exclaimed as I’d been felt Richie be pushed into me as the manoeuvrin’ continued. After readin’ the papers and seein’ the telly this mornin’ and hearin’ nothin’ but how we’d snubbed the first lady of the Philippeans by not goin’ to her dinner and the uproar that’d created in the country, we’d been in a constant state of panic and now this was takin’ the cake. I saw John clingin’ onto Paul’s shoulder, both wearin’ the same look of fear on their faces for the room full of people who were jostlin’ us ‘round. They were angry and weren’t afraid to show it.

“You’ll be treated like ordinary passengers!”

Clutchin’ Richie’s hand tightly I’d looked ‘round, movin’ out of the way if any of ‘em got too close to me. I’d wanted nothin’ more than to get out of the fuckin’ place and onto the plane that would take us home. I’d suddenly felt a guard touch my arm I’d turned to look at him, eyes blazin’, “Get your hands off of me!” I’d bumped further into Neil who’d behind me and the guard’s hand had moved away.

Out of the corner of me eye, I’d seen Paul’s eyes jump to me as soon as the words had left me mouth, and before he’d started strugglin’ to get through to me, I’d looked at him with eye’s wide and had given a vigorous shake of me head. “I’m ok. I’m okay,” I’d mouthed to him and he’d stopped but he hadn’t taken his eyes off of me.

“Lizzy, are you okay, luv,” I’d heard Ringo whisper to me and I’d nodded earnestly, givin’ his hand a reassurin’ squeeze which he returned to my unspoken question. But the jostlin’ had continued, until we were near to fallin’ all over each other. At some point, I’d almost tripped over me feet and just as I’d felt meself ‘bout to fall backwards, I’d felt George’s arm come instantly ‘round me – comin’ out of nowhere it’d seemed like – keepin’ me upright. I’d felt meself relax into it somewhat.

“I’ve got ya, Liz.” I’d turned me head to look up at him, saw the concerned way ‘bout his face, and had nodded. I’d felt his fingers slide through mine and held onto his hand tightly while I reached ‘round for Ringo’s which I’d lost for a few seconds there.

When we’d finally managed to get on the plane, legs movin’ us quickly as they’d ever had, we’d fallen about, kissin’ the seats, British Airways – Britain at last. I hadn’t given a shit at what it must’ve looked like, I’d grabbed ahold of Paulie’s hand and had pulled him into the seat next to me, immediately curlin’ into him. I’d never been so fuckin’ frightened in me entire life.

“I was goin’ to cripple the bastard,” he’d said to me, face flushed, his hand clingin’ tightly to mine.

“And ruin your reputation as the Cute Beatle, never.” I’d looked up at him, feelin’ an overwhelmin’ amount of affection for my older brother. However, it’d seemed that the nastiness indeed hadn’t passed, and next thing we’d known, Mal, Tony, and Brian were bein’ asked to leave the plane.

Exchangin’ looks amongst ourselves, we’d watched the three stand and do as instructed, and I’d felt a momentary sense of panic ‘cos I hadn’t, none of us had known what to expect. As Mal had made his way down, I’d seen the tears streamin’ down his face as he’d called over his shoulder, “Tell Lil I love her.” I hadn’t been a religious person by any means, but I’d sent a wee broken prayer up.

It’d felt like hours had passed with us waitin’ on that plane, not knowin’ what the hell was goin’ to happen. At some point, I’d stood up, brushin’ the hair back from Paulie’s forehead as I’d leaned down to kiss his temple, and I’d moved ‘round, hopin’ to calm my erratic heart beat. I’d tried to joke with John, tryin’ to make light of somethin’ that I knew we were pretty shaken by. “He didn’t try to grab your girly bits, did he?” John had leaned forward to ask me, and I’d called him a ‘daft git’ but knowin’ that just like I’d worried for him, he’d felt the same for me.

Eventually the three had returned, and we’d learned that they’d taken all of our earnings off of Brian, but wantin’ more than to get the fuck out of the place, the money had been the last thing on our minds. I’d quickly settled into the open seat by Richie and thanked him for bein’ the gallant, even if there’d been the possibility of their takin’ his rings off of him. He’d given me a playfully indignant look at the thought of it, but I’d known he was very shaken up by the entire experience and swore that he’d never return to the place.

When the plane had finally gotten up into the air, I’d looked down the aisle and found George lookin’ at me, concern written plainly on his face. His dark eyebrows had been furrowed with a mixture of both resentment for what’d happened, and worry, for all us too.

‘Are you ok?’ His look had said and I’d nodded.

‘I’m okay. Thanks for...’ I’d looked back steadily him. He’d shaken his head and it’d felt in that moment as if really was readin’ my mind. It’d been what had felt like minutes before he’d looked away.

When we’d changed planes in New Delhi, he’d joined me for a cup of tea. Richie and Paul had gone to the loo and John had asked to be taken somewhere he could make a call to Cyn. I’d made sure to poke the small carton of milk in his direction, as well as the small pack of chocolate biscuits. I’d soon thereafter felt the warm slide of his guitar-roughened hand over mine, and I’d made no move to stop him. I’d concentrated on drinkin’ my tea, actin’ like there was nothin’ strange about his hand layin’ on mine. We’d sat like that until we’d caught sight of Neil who’d come to let us know that we needed to hurry.

I’d wondered what I would’ve seen if I’d looked back at George as I’d stood quickly and had then followed Neil. It had been a few more weeks before I’d acknowledge what I’d known all along. I’d felt the imprint of those guitar-roughened fingers on the back of me hand straight from New Delhi to at least Amsterdam.

***

_‘Liz, I think it’s time that we give us a go. No reason not to anymore.’_ It’d sounded like the most natural thing in the world, and no, not a change in a song riff.

It’d been the soft and tender way he’d looked at me, a way I’d never really thought I’d want him to look at me, truthfully, that’d surprised me. My skin had gone hot and then cold and then I’d somehow felt the blood movin’ all slovenly like through me veins.

I hadn’t known what I’d been expectin’ really, after weeks of normalcy after the fuckin’ Manila incident...that really hadn’t been. There’d been an edge of somethin’ a little deeper, a little darker to all of it, but even then, I hadn’t been expectin’ that. We’d gone back to our usual chummy way of dealin’ with each other, but even as I’d thought that I’d known I was shitin’ meself lyin’. I’d realised as I’d felt a warm and heady feelin’ slither and slide ‘round my insides and settle ‘round my heart, that I’d needed stop denyin’ what had been starin’ me in me bloody face.

His dark eyes had gone a bit wide, prob’ly uncertain whether he’d be gettin’ a fist in his eye in the next few seconds, when I’d lifted me hand to touch his face. The skin on his face had been hot and scratchy with a day’s worth of beard, as I’d leaned forward and kissed him, his mouth havin’ met mine somewhere in the middle.

_Yes, fuck yes. A hundred thousand times...yes._

***

“I’m not fuckin’ ya on tour,” I’d said to him days later as he’d kissed the side of my neck. My breath had come out loudly as I’d felt him curve his hand over my breast. His head had come into view, dark hair standin’ in all directions.

He’d looked at me steadily for a few seconds as he’d leaned over me, and then set his forehead against mine so that the tip of our noses touched. “You tease,” he’d said to chuckle in his voice. I’d shoved him off, ignorin’ the hand on me waist. Or doin’ me best to.

“I know you think I’m bein’ daft, but they’ll know,” I’d said, motionin’ me head in the direction of the door. Fortunately for us, me band mates were all either asleep or currently occupied and hadn’t made their way into his room. George had pushed up to look at me a wee bit incredulously before laughin’, givin’ me one of those smiles that were all teeth.

“Are you havin’ me on, Liz?”

I’d shook my head. “George look...I don’t mean to go all prudish on ya, you know I’m not like that, but...it’d just doesn’t feel right to have it off with you with me brother fifty yards away. You’re not some random bloke I’m never goin’ to see again.” I’d sighed, unable to believe what’d been comin’ out of me mouth. “I...err...know about your needs though, for fuck’s sake, I’ve been tourin’ in the same band with the lot of you for the past five years, so..uh, if you need a fuck and a girl’s around, well, I want ye to know that I understand and –“

Instead of lookin’ pleased like I’d imagined he would, George had looked any but. He’d looked as offended as any of ‘em would’ve been if they’d been called a shameful excuse of a northern lad, and angrier about it too. “So yer tellin’ me that I have your permission to fuck any bird I want while we’re tourin’ is that it?”

“George, I just –“

“Let me tell you somethin’, Liz. You’ve seen how it is, John, Richie, and even yer sainted brother Paul all fuck birds even though they have girls at home – we’ve fucked our way ‘round the world. You’ve been there, you’ve seen it with yer own eyes, so you damn know damn well that I don’t need permission to fuck a bird, alright?” His eyebrows had come together sharply and he’d looked almost as if he had a black rain cloud hoverin’ over his head. Instead of feelin’ proud of meself like I’d expected after makin’ what I’d thought would be so mod and with-the-times times a suggestion, I’d felt like a fool.

“I’ve had all of that. Ye think I don’t know that all it takes nowadays for me to pull a bird is to tell ‘em I’m a Beatle? Give ‘em a shake of me moptop, eh?” He’d taken my chin between his fingers and he’d tilted me face up ‘til he could look me dead in the eye. “But I don’t want that, I don’t want the dollies that come to our suite after a show – I want _you_, Liz.”

His eyes had bored into mine as he’d continued, “I love ya, you daft girl, and if all I’ll have to keep me company is me hand for the next few weeks, I’ll do it.”

I hadn’t known what to say to him to him, so instead I’d taken the hand he’d waved about and that he’d become the best of mates with over the next few weeks, and turnin’ it over, had kissed the inside of his wrist. “You’re mad, ya know that?!” He’d said to me after pullin’ me so I’d had me head on his shoulder.

I’d’ nodded and felt the vibration of his laughter against my cheek.

Two and a half weeks later we’d flown back in London, and barely makin’ time to tell everyone goodbye at the airport, we’d been barrelin’ down the motor way towards his house in Surrey in his Jaguar. His hand had been hot on my leg and more than once I’d stopped him from inchin’ it up the inside of my skirt.

The instant his house had come in sight, George had gunned the ignition and the the tyres had squealed loudly in protest. By the time the car had come to a stop on the drive, my heart had been poundin’ fast and hard against my ribs, and before I’d known it, he’d flung the door to the passenger side open and less than a second later, I’d been pulled out, door slammed behind me, and we’d run towards the front door, hands tight together.

He’d fumbled to find the key, but when he’d slid it in and turned it, I’d barely had a moment to catch me breath from the sprint we’d taken from his car, when he’d pulled us through and I’d been pressed against the wall of his entry way, his mouth both hot and wet on mine. His hands had instantly started pushin’ up my skirt, and it’d been the last thing I’d thought for a while.

***

The moonlight had settled over us as we'd laid in bed afterwards, me fingers movin' over his chest, tracin' the dark whorls of hair that led below the sheet. His eyelashes formin' thick half moons as they'd laid closed, his face had been completely relaxed. He hadn't been asleep though, his fingers had been strokin' me arm tenderly as this his even breath had tickled my cheeks with each exhale.

"Yer not a berk, y'know," I'd said quietly as I'd settle into his side, my breasts had pressed tightly against his ribs. I'd fitted my head into the crook of his shoulder, settin' me lips against the place on his neck where I could feel the hum of his heart beat vibratin' against 'em.

"Is that right?" I'd heard him answer teasingly.

"Yeah. You're really not."

His only answer had been to pull me closer to him and pull the sheet tighter 'round us.

"Georgie," I'd started as I'd settled my chin on his shoulder.

"Yeah?" He'd asked, and I'd heard a wee bit of sleepiness in his voice.

"I love ya too, y'know." The words had come out much softer than I'd expected them to, almost like the way that I'd seen people on the telly go 'bout mutterin' a prayer of sorts.

"I know ya do, luv. I know ya do."


	6. The Interview: Gap Filler # 6

**Title**: The Interview: Gap Filler # 6

This one was another one of those that I thought should be written.

I think it's important to attempt to present as balanced a picture of a person as possible, whether it be a fictional character or not; warts and all. Hopefull you'll agree.

As always, comments are most appreciated!

“Did you know, Liz?” Cyn’s words had rung accusingly as she’d stared at me from across the kitchen table. The sort of look in her eye had been the pleadin’ sort, the kind of look I’d imagined a person would wear if they was layin’ their pride aside and goin’ on their knees before someone. I’d never seen the like of it before, and bloody hell, I’d never wanted to see it again.

“Know what, Cyn?” I’d asked, somehow managin’ to answer as if I’d really had no bloody clue what she was askin’ me about.

“How long did you know?” She’d continued, her fingers havin’ tightened in such a way ‘round the cup in her hands that I’d almost felt the need to move forward to loosen ‘em, before she’d broken it and hurt herself. Behind the round frames her specs I’d read loud and clear that she wasn’t buyin’ the act for a second.

I’d taken a drink of tea, lookin’ at her through the thick fringe of dark hair that hung close to me face before I’d pushed it back, tuckin’ it behind my ears. Takin’ a deep breath, I’d asked, “How long’ve I known what exactly?”

“Stop it, Liz! Just stop it! How. Long. Did. You. Know. That. _My_. Husband. Was. Fucking. Girls. Behind. My. Back?!” I’d flinched when she’d slammed the cup on the counter before she’d laid her hands flat on that same table. “How long did you know about what he was getting up to on tour? And how could you have never said anything to me? How could you have lied to me like that, Liz?” The hurt, the crushin’ hurt in her voice, had dripped from every word.

“I never lied to ye, Cyn,” I’d answered weakly, and felt like a right bitch as I’d said it too. In the split second that’d followed, I’d wanted to buy the twisted logic goin’ through me head; I was right, I’d never straight up lied to her ‘bout it – ‘cos she’d never asked me. But I had lied to her, by omission if nothin’ else.

To Cyn’s credit she hadn’t gotten up and come over to wallop me as I’d probably deserved. Instead she’d looked at me, her face reflectin’ every thought and feelin’ that’d probably been goin’ through her head. In that moment I’d come face to face with a fact that I’d long suspected, but had never fully acknowledged with physical proof: Cyn was a much better woman...a much better person than I could’ve ever hoped to be.

I’d wanted to open up me gob to sayin somethin’ to her, anythin’ really, but there’d been absolutely nothin’. As I’d sat there across me table from her, doin’ nothin’ other than raisin’ me cuppa to me lips I’d felt somethin’ that’d made me uncomfortable, guilt, but alongside that, and far more irrationally mind, I’d felt a brimmin’ and boilin’ of anger. I’d heard no stories from anyone else, be it Richie, George, or even Paul who surely would’ve told me, ‘bout Cyn askin’ them about the entire business – so the thought goin’ through me head along with the guilt had been, _Why me? Why am the I one yer comin’ to with questions?! Why am I the one dealin’ with the fuckin’ fall out?_

“I’ve known you since you were seventeen years old, Liz,” Cyn had finally continued, obviously not havin’ had a bloody idea what I’d been thinkin’ right then. “I’ve been your friend since then. For God’s sake, Liz, how could you have come to my home knowing what you knew, played with my child, asked me to be a witness at your marriage when you couldn’t respect mine enough to tell me what John was doing on tour with all those girls? What kind of person would do that?”

A cold-hearted bitch, that’s who.

I’d concentrated on keepin’ my breathin’ even, not wantin’ to cause George any alarm if he’d happened to return inside with Jules any minute. The original intent of this visit had been that Cyn and Jules would come to Kinfauns to spend the day, seein’ as how Julian and George were loyal fishing mates, but had somehow come ‘round to this.

“What did you want me to tell you, Cyn?” I asked her, hearin’ the harshness in me voice. “Cyn, the tour of Sweden was bloody amazing, ‘specially the bit ‘bout John fuckin’ a bint, and havin’ to hear the racket from start to bloody finish ‘cos I’d been assigned to the room next to him in the hotel? How ‘bout the time in Las Vegas when John was holed in a room with two sisters until their mum came to collect ‘em, worried as can be?” I’d added this last one with a cruel twist to my mouth, feelin’ an ugliness uncurlin’ inside me.

“I have a better one, let me tell ye! Did you know that after almost every show, Mal would go pull girls for the lads – ‘scopin’ the talent’ is what we’d call it – and we’d always know which ones were John’s: blonde,” I’d made a point of lookin’ at the hair loose ‘round her shoulders, “with knockers out to here,” and I’d made a thorough demonstration of it, too, “and usually with legs up to their armpits. Sometimes if John was feelin’ charitable he’d give one of the blondes to one of the other lads, but not too often. So think about it Cyn, yer a smart girl, hundreds of shows, and almost always a party afterwards. You do the math.”

Another fact I’d long suspected ‘bout meself but had never quite had confirmed had been invariably done so during that conversation with Cyn: I really wasn’t a very nice person. Not at all. She’s looked absolutely gobsmacked and instead of leavin’ well enough alone, bein’ the hot-headed fool I could be at times, I hadn’t. “But you know what I ask meself, Cyn? You sit there and ask me, ‘How long did you know?!’ well Cyn, I ask ye the same thing – how could you have not known, eh? You were his bloody wife. How could you have expected John to be anything less than the weak, unfaithful piece of shit he’s proved himself to be to ye since the very beginnin’, eh? ‘Cos that’s since when I’ve known of it. In fact, the first time I dropped in on ‘em in Hamburg, I saw a pair of birds comin’ out of Pete and John’s room. He’s been fuckin’ girls behind your back since before we ever made it big, and ye never said a thing. You know how he is, Cyn, so ask yerself how you could not have known what was goin’ on with your bloody husband before you start askin’ me how long I’ve known, and how I could’ve played with Jules when I came to visit.”

Cyn had looked at me as if I’d slapped her, that or plunged a knife into her heart and twisted it just so to push it even further still. And for all sense and purposes, that’s exactly what I’d done to her. Instead of apologisin’ profusely to her, to a woman who’d been nothin’ but a friend to me since the moment I’d met her durin’ a time when I’d had few girl friends, I’d been as cruel her as anyone probably had ever been. I’d set loose an ugliness to my character on her that she hadn’t deserved then.

“Of everyone, I’d expected you to be the one I could count on to be honest with me. I thought of the five of, you were actually a friend I could count on, someone who’d actually have some consideration for me and my son over John. I was wrong.” Cyn hadn’t moved from the chair, though knowin’ meself, I’d have been out the door and down the drive by now if it’d been me in her place.

“I was yer friend then, and believe it or not, I still am, Cyn.” She’d looked at me incredulously then, and though I hadn’t come out and told her then, I’d understood why she’d reacted so – any normal, feelin’ person would’ve done so. “But why me, Cyn? You’ve known Paul and George longer than me, since they were at the Inny. So by right, shouldn’t they be the ones that you’d gone to with this?” I’d hurt her, and God, I’d continued to do it. I’d known what she was goin’ to say to me, but I’d wanted to hear it from her own lips.

She’d leaned forward and I’d seen the look of complete and utter misery written on her face. “Because I’d actually thought you’d have a thought for my son and I, Liz. Paul...George...Richie, they’re men, Liz. And they’re John’s friends and bandmates and –“

“I am too, Cyn! I’m in the same fuckin’ band as the lot of ‘em, I toured and rehearsed with ‘em just like John does. You forget that, seems like. I’m under the same fuckin’ pressures as they all are.”

“But you’re not like them, Liz! You’re a girl, couldn’t you have had a little compassion for me and Julian, if not for me, for my son, Liz? For John’s son? Do you know how much he’s suffering now, Liz? Do you have any idea how much my son is suffering because his father is acting like for all sense and purposes he doesn’t give a shit about him anymore?!”

The amount of emotionality in the place had been makin’ me more and more uncomfortable with each passin’ minute._ You’re a fuckin’ bitch, Liz. A fuckin’ cow._ How the thought of it’d gone through me head over, and over, and over as I’d sat there with earnest eyes. “I know this, Cyn, and believe it or, I am sorry for it. Julian doesn’t deserve what’s goin’ on with him, and neither do you.” I’d looked at her steadily, willin’ her to understand what I was havin’ such difficulty tryin’ to put in words, and makin’ a right mess of it as I tried.

“Then how can you sit there and act like what John’s done to us is ok –“

“Oi, hold on there. I didn’t say that.”

“How you can sit there and ask me how I didn’t know what was goin’ on? Do you think if I’d known what was going on, if you’d been an actual friend to me, that I would’ve gone along with it?”

“I don’t know, Cyn, I don’t know. Bloody hell, what do you want me to tell you? That I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, or Jane, or Dot, or Mo ‘bout what the lads were gettin’ up to on tours? They’re me bloody band mates, Cyn, I’m fuckin’ friends with all of ‘em, and with you girls too. What would ye have had me do, Cyn? Make a list of every groupie the lads fucked on tour for you to read, eh?”

As I’d said that to her, the anger in me voice from earlier had lessened, and instead, a terrible feelin’ of bein’ so bloody lost ‘bout the entire thing took over. I was bein’ a cow to Cyn for askin’ me a question that she had every right to have an answer for, but...I wasn’t the person that needed to answer that for her; it was John. But John had been a fuckin’ coward, too afraid to be just be honest with her, too willin’ to hide behind that Jap bint’s skirts, to just come out and tell Cynthia, who’d done nothin’ but love him and try to make a comfortable life for him, why he’d done what he’d done.

And so I’d been the next best thing. Bloody hell, I’d been the next best thing, and it had been too much to bear. We’d talked ‘bout it amongst ourselves, Richie, Paul, George, and meself, but more with how Yoko’s constant presence in the studio was beginnin’ to wear on us, but not ‘bout we should’ve taken it upon ourselves to fill Cyn in on John’s habits while we’d been away on tour. Openin’ up that can or worms was like throwin’ the rest of us under a lorry, and unfortunately that’d included me.

“I just want to know why you never said a word to me, Liz.” Cyn’s eyes filled with tears and I’d felt the urge to comfort her, but as with so many things, and with another girl so long ago who’d also lost somethin’ quite important to her, I hadn’t really known how to go ‘bout it. The ironic thing had been that comfortin’ me bandmates – those other four people who I’d shared so much with – knowin’ what to say, what to do, would’ve been as natural as breathin’, but with Cyn, a person who’d shown me nothin’ but kindness since the moment I’d met her, I hadn’t had had a bloody clue.

She’d come to me ‘cos I was a girl, just like her, but what? Obviously bein’ a girl hadn’t made that any easier for me, and it’d bloody hell not made it any easier for her. I’d wished at that moment, and not for the first time mind, to have the gift with words that came so easily to others. I hadn’t had a clue of what to say to her, and I hadn’t known if I could even begin to try. So I’d sighed, takin’ a deep even breath, while she’d stared at me, tryin’ to read me face with every look of her eyes.

“Look Cyn, I wish I could tell ye that I didn’t say anythin’ to you because I didn’t want to hurt you or Julian. That’s true in a way, but honestly, and ye want me to be honest don’t you?” I’d looked at her evenly, decidin’ that this was one conversation I only wanted to have once with her. I’d said things to her in the past few minutes that I’d known would hurt her, and I’d gotten no enjoyment out of it. For all me callin’ John a bloody coward, I’d had to admit that I was one too.

Cynthia had nodded at me, lookin’ so uncertain but that she had to be prepared for whatever it was I’d had to tell her. “Honestly,” I’d continued, stoppin’ a moment to wet me lips and take a breath, “honestly, I didn’t feel it was any of me business.” For a split second she’d looked as if I’d laid one on her, and I can’t say that in the scheme of things, what I’d neglected to do couldn’t be considered the equivalent of it.

“Cyn, I’m not excusin’ it, ok? I’m not tellin’ you that what I did was right, or that I approved of what John was doin’ and that’s why I didn’t open up me gob to say anythin’. You’ve got to believe me when I tell you this, alright: you and Jules are both important people in me life, and that’s never changed and never will. But he’s my bloody band mate, Cyn, and despite all the shit he’s done to you, to me, to all of us, he’s my mate, much as it pains me to admit it.” I’d stopped, wantin’ to give her a chance to collect herself a bit before I continued. I hadn’t been feedin’ meself a life when I’d acknowledged that I only wanted to ever have this conversation with her once.

I’d known that the day would come when Julian might want to demand the same thing of me, and I’d looked forward to that even less.

She’d opened up her mouth to say somethin’, but I’d interrupted her, soundin’ unusually calm ‘bout the whole thing, which had surprised me a bit. Gone was the anger drippin’ from every word of earlier. “Let me finish, Cyn. Let me just get this out, ok?” She’d nodded and I’d seen her move her hands from the counter and move them below. “When I joined the band, Cyn, I stopped bein’ like a girl in a lot of ways. I joined a group with four lads, and effectively whatever they’d have cooled off ‘round a bird was open game with me. I became one of ‘em, and so that meant that I had to not give mind to what they got up to. I’m not excusin’ what happened Cyn, I’m really not, but when you’re on the road – it’s a very surreal thing. I can’t explain it any better than that. So I’m not goin’ to lie to you and tell you that if given the chance to go back to the beginnin’, that I’d do things any differently. I can’t tell you that, Cyn. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

“What if it had been you, Liz? You’re married to George now – so what if it’d been you? Married to George, with a baby, believing with every fibre of your heart that you have a happy life, and then you come to find out that it isn’t so? And worse yet, you know that someone you thought was a friend had known about it, and said nothing? So tell me Liz, oh Beatle Liz, what if it had been you?”

“I don’t know,” I’d answered honestly, because it was so. I didn’t know. I’d thought to meself that if it came down to it, that I may’ve been able to handle it, but there was never any tellin’. But if I’d somehow managed to, what would that have made me? Thinkin’ along those lines had made the discomfort in me grow, but I couldn’t dismiss Cyn for askin’ what she’d asked, though such a big part of me wanted to.

“I don’t know what I’d do or think if it’d been me. Look Cyn, I can’t speak for John, or Paul, or Richie, or even George, but I know John, and you know John. If you’d known Cyn, trust me, it wouldn’t have changed a thing, he still would’ve done it, ‘cos that’s John and his hang-ups. I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Cyn. I can’t read John’s mind, and I can’t tell you why he’s doin’ what he’s doin’. All I can tell you is that you don’t deserve what’s bein’ done to you, Cyn, and it’s not your fault.” I’d stopped suddenly and instantly took a deep breath, fillin’ my lungs with air.

“You’re right, Cyn, you’ve been my friend since the moment I met ya. You’ve been nothin’ but good to me, and maybe I’m a bloody coward ‘cos, despite knowin’ all of that, I can’t tell you I’d do anythin’ over differently. Maybe you’re right in sayin’ that if I’d been a proper friend to you that I’d have come to you ‘bout this from the time I knew of it. I’m not excusin’ what I didn’t do, Cyn, I’m just tryin’ to make you understand. I’m a girl you’re right, and any normal bird would’ve let ya know the moment she knew, but I’m not a normal bird, Cyn; I stopped bein’ one the moment I joined and spent the next few years of me life with ‘em and only them. I wish I could tell you that my loyalties weren’t with ‘em, ‘cos that would be a lie. But that never meant I didn’t care for you and for Jules. And when I tell you it’s not your fault, believe me that it’s not. John did what he did ‘cos he wanted to, simple as that, and John threw ya away, Cyn. John fucked this up, and royally. You can be angry at me all ye want, and I understand if you decide that we can’t see Jules anymore, which would be a shame considerin’ how close he and Georgie are, but that’s yer right, Cyn. But blamin’ me won’t change what happened, and it won’t make what John did to you any less shitty.”

Cyn had been quiet for a bit after I’d finished, and I’d wanted to slap meself for sayin’ all that shit to her, and goin’ so far. It hadn’t been any of me fuckin’ business, I should’ve kept me gob shut tight ‘bout it. But despite all of it, I’d admired her for sittin’ there and takin’ it, even if it’d been nothin’ more than a great heap of shite. Though I’d said nothin’ about it to John when I’d seen him again, I’d seen the strength in her that he’d claimed she’d never had, and I’d felt sad for him for throwin’ away the only person who’d ever accepted him with all his bullshit, and for him bein’ too fuckin’ blind to see it.  
I hadn’t said that to her either, ‘cos somethin’ had told the hearin’ of it would only make it worse. I’d hurt her, said cruel things to her, and she’d taken it. What kind of sadistic fuck was I? Hurtin’ her after everythin’ she was goin’ though?!

“I was so blind, Liz,” Cyn had said to me finally, lookin’ as fragile as a blade of grass. “How could I have not known?”

“Oh bloody hell, Cyn, don’t listen to me. I’m a right cunt, you know I am. I shouldn’t have said that to you –“

“I should’ve known something, Liz. About all those girls, about...that Jap bitch, I should’ve known but I was so fucking blind, and not just in the literal sense.”

“Forget what I said, it’s shit, it’s just me bein’ a bitch and I’m sorry.” And I’d meant it, more than any of the hurtful things I’d said.

“It wasn’t. It’s just..very hard, you know? I didn’t just lose me husband, I lost all of you. I feel as if I’ve lost a part of my family, all in one go.” It’d hurt to hear her say that, that after everythin’, she’d still considered us that important to her, and worse yet, that we’d just gone along with stayin’ out of it. There’d been nothin’ left I couldn’t said to her, and Cyn must’ve known that to be so.

Lookin’ back, I’d wished I could’ve handled things differently, not proved to both meself and Cyn that when push came to shove that I could be as flaky as the rest of ‘em. I’d been confronted with the ugly reality that comes from the belief that in tryin’ to keep yourself indifferent in a situation that could only hurt someone in the end, that you’ll still somehow be unaffected. The only person I’d made feel better by turnin’ a blind eye, had been me.

It’d been a while before Cyn had forgiven me, forgiven all of us, I think, and I couldn’t have blamed her. I may have not been the one to hurt her the most out of the five of us, but I’d done it, and worse yet, I'd been convinced I'd have done the same again. In all the madness of those years when we’d been the biggest fuckin’ band in the world, it’s easy to only focus on the songs we put in peoples’ hearts and the smiles we put on their faces, and easier still to overlook the ones we hurt along the way. Cyn had been just one of ‘em, but one who’d been failed terribly.


	7. The Inteview: Gap Filler # 7

**Title**: The Inteview: Gap Filler # 7

This is the second one I've posted in twenty-four hours. Another scene I'd felt a curiosity about, and very much in line with Gap Filler # 1. This is a bit of silliness, more than anything. :-)

The next update shall come in a few days. As always, comments are most appreciated!

The wind had whipped my cheeks as I’d followed Richie and Mo onto the roof, Billy Preston comin’ up behind me. Steppin’ out into the grey London afternoon, I’d pulled me heavy wool coat ‘round me tightly as I’d stepped over cables and had gone ‘bout duckin’ under a metal beam, the sound of my boot heels knockin’ as they’d connected with the floor. I’d felt the movement under me feet as Paulie’d gone ‘bout jumping straight up and down on the wooden planks of the roof, as if testin’ that they wouldn’t give halfway through what’d been our first live performance in two and a half years.

Dark hair movin’ this way and that over me face, I’d pulled the strap of my guitar over my shoulder as I’d moved to stand closest to the amp by Ringo and Billy Preston, the callused pads of me fingers fittin’ comfortably over the frets, strummin’ each string with my thumb on one hand, while I’d tuned it the other. “I should’ve brought a scarf,” I’d said out loud to meself miserably as I’d felt the cold January wind all the way to me bones.

“You doin’ ok, Liz?” I’d heard Billy ask me in that warm American way of his. I’d overheard Richie yellin’ somethin’ at Mal ‘bout his kit bein’ in the wrong place or sommat.

“I’m alright, thanks. How are you, Billy? It’s bloody freezin’ up here!” I’d laughed as I’d looked over my shoulder at him.

Billy had laughed, “Doin’ good, honey. Doin’ real good.”

“Well whatever’s got ya feelin’ that good you’ve gotta stop holdin’ out on, mate.” He’d chuckled loudly, a big smile coverin’ his face. Exchangin’ a grin with Richie who’d looked quite dapper and flash Mo’s red coast, I’d waited for Paulie to count us in. George’d caught my eye for a second before sendin’ me the flash of a smile seconds from where he’d been off to the other side. I’d winked at him just as I’d caught Paulie’s foot start tappin’ against the wooden planks.

“1..2...3...4!” And we’d gone straight into _Get Back_. My fingers had dug into the frets, and I’d felt the strong vibrations of the music comin’ from the amp against the back of me legs. With each slide of my hand up the neck of the guitar, my entire body had moved, shoulders dippin’ with each downward movement – as much ‘cos of the music as tryin’ to not freeze to death up there. I’d watched the back of Paul’s head movin’ this way and that as he’d sung, his voice soarin’ over into the cold mornin’ ear, the cuff of his shirt bright against his black suit. I’d tried not to giggle as I’d instantly remembered havin’ watched him do that countless times before, shakin’ his moptop – that wasn’t quite a moptop anymore, he looked more like a mountain man than anythin’ – for the prepubescent girls who’d come to hear us play durin’ our first tour of the states.

Within minutes of startin’ the impromptu set atop the roof of our Saville Row offices, I’d looked out onto the London skyline, and saw the growin’ number of people who’d climbed to the top of their own roofs all ‘round, tryin’ to catch a look of us up there: John in that fur coat big enough that you’d almost worry it wasn’t set to open up its claws to gobble ye up, brown hair loos ‘round his shoulder, granny specs hangin’ off the end of his nose, Paulie lookin’ quite put together in a button up and black suit, my George with his longish black hair in a black coat that’d make anyone confuse him for one of those massive black bears I’d heard roamed through the states from the back – if it hadn’t been for the pea green trouser he’d currently been sportin’, Richie in Mo’s red coat, and then me in and old wool coat and my favourite tweed trousers. Gone had been the days of wearin’ matchin’ polyester suits!

When we’d decided to take to the roof, the plan had been to play ‘til the constables arrived to shut us down. “We’ve got to stick it to ‘em,” John had said before he’d taken a drag of his cigarettes. He’d recently been busted for possession of hash, and whatever opinion he’d had of ‘em had soured considerably. Little had I known then that less than two months later George would get busted for dope at our house in Esher while I’d been away visitin’ me dad.

After havin’ been unable to come up with a venue we could perform the blasted thing at – Paulie wantin’ to hit a small club, John goin’ on ‘bout playin’ at a loony bin, and Richie bein’ emphatically opposed to leavin’ Britain, we’d arrived at an impasse and decided to just have it off on top of the Apple headquarters. I’d gathered we’d have continued playin’ until the bloody cows came home, or until one of us got fed up with standin’ about in the bloody cold, until the fuckin’ law made an appearance.

We’d played a few songs of our set a few times over, as the documentary of the thing had shown, movin’ from _Get Back_ to _Don’t Let Me Down_, to _I’ve Got a Feeling_ where I’d joined John in playin’ the wicked descendin’ guitar rift (which he'd almost throttled Paulie over when we'd rehearsed it time and time again), after Paul’d had his chance to scream into his mic the way he’d loved to. Even though I’d particularly hated bein’ up there in the bleedin’ cold, even with all my spazin’ body movements that weren’t anything like the mad dancey thing Georgie’d had goin’ on, I’d had a rollickin’ good time playin’ bluesy music up there with ‘em.

When I’d looked out onto the skyline again, I’d seen that the number of people who’d been standin’ of their roofs watchin’ us play had grown considerably. I’d felt a wee shiver of pride at that, let me tell ye. Durin’ a brief break before _Dig A Pony_, I’d stolen a drag of Richie’s fag, feelin’ the nicotine coursin’ deliciously through my bloody as I’d exhaled the smoke the French way, gettin’ a laugh off of Billy in the process.

At some point I’d looked over me shoulder, and had seen that Mal had returned with two bobbies in tow who’d hovered near the doorway and then oddly enough moved nearer to the amp close to me. As soon as we’d caught sight of ‘em, I’d seen a few nervous grins bein’ tossed ‘round and we’d gone back into another round off _Get Back_. I hadn’t given a shit really, set on enjoyin’ meself even with I’d heard John and George’s amp cuttin’ out before they’d gotten back to it, from the smiles that covered their faces sayin’ loud and clear that they didn’t give a shit either.

Paulie'd started changin’ the words halfway through, uncarin’ with that shit-eatin’ cherubic smile on his face, goin’ on ‘bout ‘Loretta’ gettin’ arrested and the like. It’d been easy to forget while we’d played on top of that bloody freezin’ roof all the fuckin’ ugliness that’d been spreadin’ around us since we’d started recordin’ and bein’ hounded by the fuckin’ camera crew. For almost forty-five minutes it’d been like the old days, and I hadn’t known just how much I’d missed the days where we’d done nothin’ but take the mickey out of each other, let each other have it, and just sit ‘round playin’ our music.

As Richie’d rattled off an endin’ on his kit, the music had come to a finish and John had approached the mic to give one of his classic tongue-in-cheek lines. I’d heard the loud cheers and clappin’ as I’d pulled the strap off of my shoulder, I’d leaned over towards Richie again and had taken another drag of his cigarette before returnin’ it to him, both of us turnin’ to look at the constables still hoverin’ around.

“Just so ya know, I ain’t payin’ to get ya out,” I’d said to Paul, lookin’ over at the two bobbies Mal was talkin’ to, when he’d come over to give us a bit of a one-armed hug. He’d played at givin’ me a stricken look before turnin’ to Billy.

“My own flesh and blood, I tell you!”

“Families are always the worst,” Billy had laughed agreeably, a wry smile on his face, “I feel for you, man.”

“He’ll be ok, Billy. Paul’s quite pretty ya know, I’m sure he’ll find hisself a nice boyfriend in no time!! I’m sure they won’t mind the small furry animal currently takin’ residence on his face!” I’d laughed at the grimace that had covered my brother’s face while both Billy and Richie’d started laughin’ hard enough to hack up a lung.

“You’re a nasty piece of a work, did I ever tell you that?” Paul had asked with a shake of his head, but I’d heard in the humour in his voice. He’d soon thereafter gone off to join up with Mal; by the look of things, we’d obviously not been in danger of bein’ arrested and dragged off on the back of a black lorry. Much as John may’ve wanted that.

Less than a minute later, I’d been attacked by what I’d thought be a vicious black animal that I’d realised a split second later had only been George’s arm which he’d come to wrap tightly ‘bout me shoulders. Bloody hell, he’d been so warm, and havin’ been the leech of warmth anyone could’ve told you I was (especially Paulie whom I’d exploited without remorse durin’ our young days), I’d turned into him, and wrapped me arms tight 'round his waist while he'd pulled the black monstrosity over us. I’d been of mind to ask him if he hadn’t walked into a taxidermists’ shop for a laugh and was goin’ around callin’ it a coat.

“We should’ve gone to bloody Bermuda. What I wouldn’t give for a half coconut shell filled with rum, wee umbrella hangin’ around!” I’d felt rather than seen the exasperated shake of his head.

“You were great!” I’d heard George call to Billy, feelin’ the words vibratin’ in his throat.

“You were too, man! You and your missus were brilliant.” I’d felt George’s laughter against the tip of my nose which’d I’d buried in his collar bone. Minutes later I’d heard him tellin’ Billy and Richie he’d see ‘em both inside and just as he’d been set to move me from my comfortable position, I’d muttered loudly, “I’m _cold_, Georgie. Have a heart for your poor, poor wife.”

“You bloody heat leech. I should leave ya to freeze yer arse off as you deserve for usin’ me so!” Instead of followin’ through on the cruelty of his words, he’d continued to hold me tightly and then muttered, “Right.” He’d tapped the edge of my right boot with one of his Chuck Taylors.

“What’re you on about?” I’d muttered, unable to see any of the outside world for his thick black coat.

“Well if we’re goin’ to get back inside, and since ye’ve decided to use me person as your personal heat machine, you’d best walk backwards or else we’ll be here all day and you know Paul won’t take too kindly to that.”

And so ignorin’ the laughter that we brought on us, me probably lookin’ like a daft git, I’d walked backwards with him directin’ my movement, “Right leg – watch your step – now left, mind you don't step on me toes.” Eventually we’d made it over to the door, somehow avoidin’ me endin’ up with any serious injuries, and sharin’ a giggle with each step as he threatened to let me fall over me feet, I’d finally unwrapped my arms once we’d crossed the doorway.

“Daft girl,” George had whispered into my ear before he’d let me go. I’d just been ‘bout to wrespond with somethin’ terribly witty when John had moved past, lookin’ at both of us with a playful smile on his face.

“Get a move on, children. Musn’t keep Macca waiting!” He’d turned on his heel headed down the corridor with a maniacal laugh and his black-haired shadow had followed without a word. George had wrapped an arm ‘round my shoulders and together we’d headed downstairs, leavin’ the rooftop behind. None of us had known the favourite that scene would become, but I’d known as we’d reached the foot of the stairs and had been about to return to the studio where I’d caught sight of Paul sittin’ at the piano with Linda’s daughter, Heather, that for the first time in a long time, it’d been really great to play like that with ‘em again.

Little had we known it would be very last time either, but bein’ as it’d been, we’d definitely gone out with a bang.


	8. The Interview: Mini-Gap Filler # 7.5 :: Birthdays

**Title**: The Interview: Mini-Gap Filler # 7.5 :: Birthdays

I wouldn't get my hopes up about this one, lol. It'll undoubtedly be quite short, but seeing as it's Paul's birthday today, and you all know that Liz would never forget her _old woman_ (her words, not mine) of a "brother"'s birthday, something needed to be written for the occassion.

A proper Gap Filler shall be posted in the next few days, but in the meantime, here's one to mark Paul's 67th birthday!

_1948_

"Muuuummmmyyyyyyy, Liz ate what was left of my birthday cake! You said I could have it after dinner," Paul had run wailin' into the back garden where our Mum had been busy weedin' one of the flower beds. At the sight of my older brother who'd come barrelin' outside, face red with anger, and tears runnin' freely down his face, she'd sat back on her heels.

Doin' me best to be as inconspicious as it was possible to be at the grand age of five, I'd hovered close to the door, but not comin' out. I'd made a business of lickin' the last bit of chocolate icing that'd currently been coverin' me fingers, tryin' to get rid of the evidence.

I'd watched our Mum push herself to her feet, brown hair glistenin' just so in the warm sunshine, as she'd laid a hand on my brother's shoulder. _The snitch_.

"What's this?" I'd heard her ask him, usin' the back of her old nurse's apron to wipe his shirt. I'd crinkled me nose at big as I'd seen the stream of snot which'd connected the end of Paul's nose and her apron.

"Liz ate my cake!" He'd wailed angrily, and at the sound of my name, I'd ducked out of sight.

I could only think that my Mum really did have eyes in the back of her head -- well as the top and side of it, to have called out, "Liz stop hiding by the door and come outside so I can look at you," and from where I'd been peekin' through the door, I'd seen her starin' pointedly at the door. Maybe if I was really quiet and managed to tiptoe to -- "Right now, Liz!" she'd called it and less than three seconds later I'd wrapped my wee hand 'round the door knob and headed outside.

I'd done me best to look angelic as could be in my flower-print dress with a wide collar as I'd approached my Mummy and red-faced brother. He'd wiped the back of his nose with the new button up Mummy'd bought for his birthday.

"Mary Elizabeth," she'd started, callin' me _both_ of my names, which even at five years old, I'd known was bad news, "did you eat the last piece of your brother's birthday cake?"

I'd shaken my head quickly, hidin' me grubby mit behind me. "No, mummy."

She'd taken one look at me before askin', "Are you sure?"

I'd nodded emphatically, my short brown hair movin' up and down with each movement of me head.

"Go back inside, Liz, and wash your face. You've icin' all over it. There'll be no dinner for you tonight!"

I'd been to stricken to say anything, so I'd turned and was about to go back inside when I'd heard Paul's runnin' footsteps comin' up behind me. When he'd reached me, movin' past me to go inside, I'd wiped a bit of the icin' I hadn't known was on my cheek and had offered the finger to him, thinkin' he'd been raisin' all that fuss over the icin'.

"You want some icin', Paulie?" I'd asked as I'd made me peace offerin'. He'd taken one look at me, nose red and angry and 'fore I'd known it, he'd kicked me in the leg. "Oww!!!!!!!!!!!" I'd cried, eyes immediately wellin' with tears as I'd heard him yell, "No, I don't want any icing!"

Next thing I'd known, our Mummy had come runnin' up the stairs, grabbed us both by the ears and pulled us inside, both wailin' and caterwaulin' at the firm grasp. "Both of you upstairs! There'll be no dinner for either of you! Upstairs now!"

Me brother had pushed past me angrily as he'd run upstairs and I'd followed suit when she'd given me one of those "Mummy looks" that were enough to put the fear of God in yas and I'd headed upstairs. Just as she'd said, there'd been no dinner for either of us, even after Mike had run upstairs, complain' of his stomach hurtin' from the extra servin' of stew he'd eaten.

When it'd come times to put us to bed, I'd waited until Mummy and Dad had stopped by my wee little room to tuck me in. "Good night, Lizzy," Mummy had called over her shoulder as she'd closed the door behind her, and a minute later, I'd reached into the little box I'd hid under me bed where I'd hid what I'd considered to be my little pieces of treasure. In the darkness, I'd wrapped me fingers 'round the candy bar I'd bought with the shiny coin my Dad had given me for helpin' him tidy up the parlor earlier in the week, and tryin' to be as quiet as possible, I'd left me room as quickly as my little legs could handle.

I'd pushed the door to Paulie and Mike's room in, and had entered it quietly. "Liz, what are you doin' here?!" I'd heard Paul whisper loudly at me, his little face pale in the moonlight comin' through.

I'd rushed towards him and had then bounced on his bed with a giggle, "I brough ye a present, Paulie," I'd said leanin' towards him with a conspirin' smile.

His eyebrows had perked up with interest, and he'd sat up on his bed. "What'd you bring me?"

"A chocolate bar!" I'd giggled and tossed it to him. His eyes had gone wide as could be.

"Oh goody! My tummy was grumblin' so!" He'd taken it and tore it open before he'd bitten into it greedily.

"I'm sorry 'bout your cake, Paulie," I'd said while I'd watched him devour the delicious piece of chocolate, almost tastin' it meself, and my tum had growled as I'd remembered that I'd been sent off with no dinner either.

Paul had looked at me seriously, or as seriously as it was possible with your mouth covered entirely in chocolate, and without thought, had broken a big piece and handed it in my direction. "Sorry I kicked you, Lizzy."

I'd shrugged and devoured the piece of chocolate greedily, a happy smile on my face.

_1957_

"What's this then?" I'd called out as soon as I'd entered the front parlor of our house on Forthlin Road and had seen the birthday decorations hangin' droopin' just so. I'd sat my book bag by the front door.

As I'd unbuttoned by school blazer, I'd heard me Dad call out, "In the kitchen!" I'd hung my blazer on a hook by the door and I'd gone off in the direction of the kitchen. I'd been greeted with the sound of me Dad and brothers singin' "Happy Birthday" soon as I'd crossed the door. They'd all looked like quite the odd trio with my dad in his knitted vest, Paulie with slicked back hair in that formidable DA, and Mike in his school uniform very much like mine.

An round birthday cake had sat proudly displayed on our kitchen table, covered in light pink icin' that was thick in some areas and rather sparse in others -- not smooth and done _just so_ like in previous years before... I'd gulped. Fourteen little candles had burned brightly atop it, flickerin' in the daylight.

"Well don't just stare at it all day!" Mike had exclaimed, lookin' at me exasperatedly. "Hurry up and make a wish!" I'd played at makin' a grand birthday wish, turnin' my head this way and that, when all I'd wanted to do was go to my room and not think that this was the first birthday I'd ever have without...

I'd shut my eyes tightly and after makin' a wish, had blown out the candles loudly.

When I'd opened my eyes, I'd seen our Dad cuttin' into the cake with a cackle and as was custom, handed me the first piece. "Happy birthday, Liz girl," he'd said with a smile before he'd bent to drop a kiss on the top of my head.

"Ta, Dad," I'd answered softly and gave him what I hoped was a happy smile.

"Dig in, Lizzy, I didn't spend all bloody afternoon bakin' the thing for you to just stare at it, though you can thank our Mike for the crap job with the icin'!" Paul had muttered, as he'd been handed a slice of the absurd pink cake and stabbed it with a fork before he'd taken a big bite.

_1963_

"What the fuck was that bastard playin' at, eh? Layin' one on that DJ, and at Auntie Gin's no less," I'd sighed as I'd wearily raised what I'd decided to be the most delicious rum and coke in existence and drank half of it down in one go.

"Auntie Gin did look a fright, didn't she?" Paul had laughed, the alcohol in his system makin' him giggle and lean onto Jane's shoulder so.

"Jane luv, talk some sense to him will ya?" I'd said with a look at the redhead. "You don't understand, Janey, it's our _Auntie Gin_. John's lucky she didn't dance one of those Spanish flamencos on him when he laid one on Bob Wooler!"

Though I'd been bloody serious about it, the effect had been interrupted by a terribly unladylike belch that came from me person and resulted in both Jane and Paul breaking into a terrible fit of giggles. Seein' as his head had been turned somewhat, I'd been able to rather stealthily make my way over and pour the remainder of my drink, ice and all, into his lap.

"Happy birthday, Paulie!!" I'd called over my shoulder with a laugh as I'd he'd jumped 'round, moppin' at the front of his trousers with his suit jacket. However, I'd caught the evil look in his eye and broke into a sprint into the night, makin' a point of leggin' it out of there before he could catch up with me.

Eventually he'd caught me, knocked me to the ground, but by then we'd been too bloody tired to do anythin' but lie in the grass, chests risin' as we'd tried to catch our breaths, our laughter burstin' forth uncontrollably into that dark star-spinkled night.

_1968_

"Happy birdday to you, happy birdday to you, happy birrrrddayyyyy Mike and Lizzy, happy birdddaaayyy to you!!" The others had finished singin' to both me and Mike Love who'd joined us on our trip to Rishikesh.

Cyn had laid a cake shaped and decorated like a sunflower in front of both me and the Beach Boy that I shared a birthday with. Her smile had been wide, but there'd been a hint of sadness to it that I hadn't asked her 'bout, too bloody focused on the fact that it was my bleeding twenty-fifth birthday!

"You ready to cut the thing?" Mike Love had asked me from where he'd been sittin' next to me under that marquee, heavy beard coverin' the bottom of his face.

"Yeah!" I'd grinned. "I love birthday cake, which this lot will gladly attest to!" I'd looked from Paulie to John to George to Jane who'd all nodded in agreement, each havin' taken the mickey of me for it at some point.

"Mind that she doesn't make off with your half, mate," John had added, "young Liz is rather infamous for it. Don't let the way she looks fool you, she can put it away!"

I'd taken the slice of cake one of the serving girls at the ashram had passed in my direction with a grateful smile and I'd bitten into it eagerly. The flavour of it had been quite off -- what I wouldn't have given for proper flour and white sugar. Later on that afternoon, I'd followed a white punjabi clad George back to our little hut, both of us weighed down with my birthday packages.

As soon as we'd set my packages on our bed, he'd given me a devious smile and reachin' into the wardrobe, had removed a small white box tied with a bright blue bow. Toothy smile coverin' his face, he'd handed it to me, "Happy birthday, luv."

"How nice of you to mark my birthday, Mr. Harrison. It's good to know that we old married couples still celebrate such silliness," I'd answered givin' him a playful smile and had then gone 'bout openin' the blasted thing. What'd been inside had been quite wonderful. "You bastard, no wonder you waited to give this to me!" The sight of the chocolate tart nestled in the white box with a delicate little arrangement of fruit atop it had almost made me cry. A woman could only live off of yoghurt and curry for so long without goin' weak at the knees at the sight of somethin' so glorious.

"Who'd you let feel you up to sneak this in?" I'd whispered theatrically towards him, eye wide. Raisin' a finger to his lips he'd shushed me loudly.

"How could ya say such a thing about me and Neil. It's true love I tell ye!"

George had laughed at me when I'd started eatin' the tart with me fingers, not waitin' for a minute to get me hands on a proper fork. He'd come over and kissed me mid-bite, and as he'd pulled away, he'd been wipin' a bit of chocolate from the side of his mouth. "Happy birthday, luvie luv luv," he'd whispered into my ear in such a way that I'd felt tingles movin' up my spine.

_1978_

I'd watched Linda balance the birthday cake as she'd made her way over to the table, her blonde hair bright in the candlelight. As we'd done every year, we'd broken into song, and Paulie, just as impatient as I'd always been, had cut into the cake as quickly as humanly possible, even when my niece Mary had taken it on herself to cover his face with icing. She'd giggled up at him as he'd wiped it off, but unable to keep the laughter from his face.

"You're gettin' on in years," I'd called to Paul as I'd given Linda a grateful smile for bein' an angel and cuttin' me a slice large enough to feed the population of Sussex -- just as I'd liked it.

"You're less than a year younger than me!" He'd retorted with a quirk of that famous eyebrow of his.

"Mere technicality, really. Doesn't change the fact that you're gettin' on and will soon enough have to start usin' hair plugs, mate."

Paul had made a face. "Be sure to ask George where he gets his, will you?"

"I'll do better than that, Paulie, I'll have him donate hair to you. Isn't that nice?" I'd replied with a smile as I'd taken a bite of Paulie's birthday cake. I'd looked onto his garden where my kids were runnin' around with his and settled back into my chair to make meself comfortable, pattin' my heavily pregnant belly all the while.

"I'm not old," he'd muttered and I'd seen Linda come over to pat his shoulder soothingly before tellin' him to deal with bein' four years closer to forty by havin' another slice of cake. He'd shrugged as she'd settled another slice next to his half-eaten one, glarin' at me as I'd leaned forward to pat the back of his hand.

"There, there, Paulie. There there." As I'd moved to steal a bit of cake off his plate, he'd brought the edge of the spoon against my knuckles.

"Keep your mitts to yourself!"

_1988_

My birthday had been the first time that Paul and George had seen each other since Paul had decided against attendin' The Beatles' induction to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in January. They'd been friendly enough, but there'd been a bit of an underlyin' tension there as well. It hadn't been to the degree of the very early 70's by any means, but it'd been obvious that there hadn't been lookin' at each other much.

They'd gotten over it mind, even if it had taken childishly slatherin' good cake all over 'em. They'd both started laughin' and called me daft. I'd merely told 'em to let me enjoy the last few years I had before turnin' fifty, when me life would really be over I'd assured 'em.

Never above makin' a jab at Paulie who'd reach the momentous occassion before I ever did.

_1998_

I'd sat the slice of the birthday cake I'd ordered in front of him. It'd been hours since the kids had taken off for the evenin' after I'd assured 'em, especially Mary, that I'd keep an eye on him. "Fancy a cuppa while you eat, Paulie?" I'd asked, starin' at him across the counter of the kitchen at Peasmarsh. He'd shrugged a bit but hadn't answered, only lookin' onto the plate I'd set before him.

He'd been like that for weeks, not that I'd have expected anythin' less. He'd poked and prodded at the birthday cake for a while, only takin' a bite or two when I'd prompted him to. When I'd set a cup of tea before him, he'd barely touched it, instead reachin' for the bottle of wine to my right and had helped himself to a full glass of it.

I hadn't said a word, knowin' that it wouldn't have helped him any. All I could do was sit there, stay with him, even if all he'd be able to do was get himself sloshed right and proper. At least he'd have someone there with 'em, and bloody hell, I hadn't wanted it to be one of the kids. The last they needed, he needed really, was to see their dad gettin' drunk off his arse.

Two hours later the cake had laid half-eaten on the plate, but that'd been the last thought goin' through my head as I'd wrapped an arm 'round his waist, puttin' his arm around my shoulder, and helped him up the stairs. He hadn't made it all the way though, before he'd tripped over his feet landed arse down on one of stairs, swayin' unsteadily.

His eyes had been bloodshot as I'd taken a seat next to him on the stairs, takin' his hand with uncharacteristic gentleness in my hands and felt him turn into me, and he'd lowered his forehead to my shoulder against which he'd started sobbin' gutteral wrenchin' sobs. I'd held his hand the entire time. It hadn't been a birthday I'd wanted remindin' of.

_2002_

He'd arrived at Friar Park before I'd even woken up, bloody tired from a night of little sleep. It'd been bloody hard to learn how to sleep alone again, but then again, Paul had had to learn that very lesson years before. I'd gone downstairs when the smell of breakfast had started fillin' the house, and it'd been with little surprise that I'd found him fryin' tofu sausage and eggs when I'd come downstairs.

He'd smiled cheerfully at me, lookin' every bit the Cute One from days of yore, and before I could've raised a fuss, he'd continued makin' breakfast and bringin' the kettle to a boil.

Eventually he'd settled a great steamin' plate of brekkie before me and told me to dig in. I'd remembered another birthday from years and years before when birthday cake had been the order of the day and not breakfast. I'd eaten because I'd known that it was necessary to do so, but I hadn't tasted it, and stopped after a while.

I'd watched Paul remove a box from the icebox and had watched him come toward with me, a hint of a smile 'bout his mouth. It'd been a simple little white box, and oddly that had triggered a memory of sorts, but I hadn't quite placed it. He'd motioned for me to open it with that very famous left hand of his, and when I had, I'd felt a catch in my throat: chocolate tart with a delicate arrangement of fruit on top of it, same as...all those years before.

I'd looked up at him questioningly, and he'd answered without me havin' to voice it, "He asked me before...you know." I'd nodded quickly, knowin' exactly what he meant. I'd lowered my head a bit, quickly blinkin' away what was surely comin', but I couldn't -- not that day, it was me birthday. It would've been the last thing he'd have wanted.

I'd cut off a piece with a fork and had taken a bite, the rich taste of chocolate bringin' back so many memories. I'd felt Paul come beside me and wrap an arm tightly 'round my shoulders.

"It gets easier, Lizzy. I won't lie and say that it goes away completely, 'cos it doesn't, but it gets easier. You'll see." And he'd kissed the top of my head, briefly mumblin' "Happy birthday," into my hair. I'd held his a hand for a long time that mornin'.

_2006_

Prrr. Prrr. Prrr. Prrrrrrrrrrrr.

"Hello?" An exasperated voice had answered the line.

Instead of answerin', I'd set the telephone down to the side, and pressed the button for 'SPEAKERPHONE'. Fittin' me fingers into the frets along my guitar's neck, I'd started strummin', unusually wide smile on my face.

_When I get older, losing my hair many years from now _

"Oh bloody hell, Liz --"

_Will you still be sending me a valentine, **birthday greetings**, bottle of wine?_

"Yeah, I get it thank you very much!"

I'd taken an incredible amount of pleasure in playin' the song for him that he'd been such a shit about durin' the makin' of "Pepper". I'd chuckled perhaps a little too loudly whenever I'd come to _Will you still need me, will you still feed me, **when I'm sixty-four**?_ since I'd known that it'd aggravated him so.

When I'd finished, I'd taken the setting off of 'SPEAKERPHONE' and brought the telephone close to my ear. "Happy birthday, Paulie!"

"Right nasty bitch, you are," had been his only answer.

"You're the one that wrote it, mate. Don't blame me for the seranadin' you'll be gettin' for the next three hundred and sixty-four days 'til your next one!"

I'd laughed when he'd told me that he was considerin' just holin' himself up at his house for the next year, not to be seen or heard of other than occassional "I'm still alive" press releases. He'd filled me in on his plans for the day with his children and I'd asked if he'd received my gift that morning.

As we'd been 'bout to ring off before he'd headed off to have lunch with his girls, I'd been unable to add, "You know Paulie, we all still need you, and we'll do best to feed you, even though you're sixty-four."

"Oh I'm not worried 'bout that, Lizzy. If you won't, you forget that I have an entire legion of fans at my beck and call!" His laughter had been genuine as he'd added, "Less than nine months to go, and then it's your turn!"

I'd eaten a slice of birthday cake in his honour that afternoon, and wasn't surprised when he'd arrived later that night to have cake and a cup of tea under the stars.


	9. The Interview: Gap Filler # 8

**Title**: The Interview: Gap Filler # 8

This interaction was another one of those I somehow felt was only fitting to write. Whether I was successful or not, only you can be the judge. :-)

As always, comments are most appreciated!!

_Summer, 1965_

It had been after three o’clock in the mornin’ when I’d heard one of the doors leadin’ into one of the lads’ hotel rooms open. I hadn’t looked up from the copy of the previous morning’s paper when I’d heard the sound of approachin’ footsteps. After havin’ rid meself of the green-eyed boy I’d spent a few fun-filled hours with an hour before, I’d been unable to kip off as was my usual custom after sex, and so I’d decided to take meself off to the lounge to read until my eyelids felt heavy – knowin’ I’d do nothin’ but stare at the walls of my room if I stayed.

Just as I’d been set to turn the page, I’d heard a loud gasp. I’d lowered the newspaper, and lookin’ over the coffee table covered with empty bottles of bitter and an ashtray filled to the brim with cigarette butts, I’d stared at the ginger haired girl in the low-cut dress I’d seen John with earlier. “Oh my gosh, it’s you! You’re Liz McCartney!” She’d said in a rather shrill voice, and her eyes had been round as saucers.

“Uh...yes?” It’d still been rather odd to be looked so by people, even though it’d been years by that point since we’d made it big.

“Golly, I’m so sorry; I shouldn’t have bothered you when you were reading!” The girl had said earnestly and I’d seen her tug at her dress.

“S’alright,” I’d answered with a small smile which I hoped was polite. “You’re ‘bout to head off aren’t you?”

“Oh yes! Yes I am!” She’d nodded a little too enthusiastically and I’d almost felt a bit of smidgeon of pity for the girl who’d be reduced to naught but a description of what kind of fuck she’d been later that mornin’ over brekkie. My band mates had long gotten into the habit of discussin’ their previous night’s entertainments over tea and whatever else was on the menu for breakfast, slaggin’ each girl’s individual talents or lack thereof with a laugh or sympathetic shake of a head. “It sure was a gear party!” She’d continued with a nervous grin and I’d coughed to cover my smile.

Right. Gear.

“Well It’s _gear_ to hear that you had a good time, luv.” And I’d silently wondered where Mal was, seein’ as it was usually his responsibility to deal with whoever came to our gatherings and get rid of ‘em as well.

“Liz..um, it’s okay if I call you ‘Liz’ right?”

“That’s me name, innit?” I’d chuckled, “Yeah?”

“It’s just that I really am such a fan of yours – really! My girlfriends and I think you’re just the –“ Her words had suddenly been cut off by the door to the suite openin’ and Mal’s rather fortuitous appearance. Pushin’ his dark-rimmed glasses up his nose, Mal had greeted me with a brief smile before turnin’ his full attention to her.

“Come on, I’ll see you downstairs. It’s gettin’ quite late, luv,” Mal had said patiently to her, handlin’ her with the usual kindness with which he’d always treated our fans. I’d always suspected it had a thing or two to do with the not-so-patient way me mates tended to handle ‘em after they’d finished off. Their idea of chivary was probably offerin’ ‘em a fag durin’ the post-coital glow or a quick shower before they made themselves scare, if they were of mind.

“Night night,” I’d called out as I’d watched him lead her out of the suite, never to be seen by any of us ever again. She’d looked over her shoulder at me the entire time. I’d learned long ago that it was best to not say much of anythin’ to any of those girls seein’ as I was the lone female of the band, and by nature of it may’ve encouraged ‘em to think that by gettin’ on my good side they’d be able to stick ‘bout longer. Little had they known that I was usually worse ‘bout that than the lads – at least they weren’t opposed to lettin’ their fucks hang ‘bout long enough afterwards to have a cigarette or a wash.

I’d returned to readin’ the paper again, not lookin’ up when Mal had returned a bit later and asked me if I wanted anythin’ before he took hisself off to bed. I’d declined and told him good night. I’d intended to enjoy my rare opportunity to enjoy the quiet of bein’ all alone in the suite lounge, but unfortunately for me, I’d soon thereafter heard one of the doors that’d lead into one of the lads’ bedrooms open. I’d been unsure who it’d be, either one of the lads or yet another of the birds they’d made off with for the evenin’, so I’d made a point of pullin’ my dressin’ gown tightly ‘bout me.

“Isn’t it too late for a bird yer age to be awake, young Liz?” John’s voice had asked me.

“I could say the same thing to you, Johnny boy. Isn’t it too late for someone of your advanced age to be movin’ about at this hour – careful you don’t pull anythin’,” I’d responded without botherin’ to lower the paper.

“I’m a lot more sprightly than you give me credit for,” I’d heard him say from somewhere nearby and then heard a loud thump as he made himself at home on the chair facin’ me. I’d heard the rustle of what I’d automatically known was a pack of ciggies, and then the soft  
flick of his thumb scrapin’ over the lighter.

“So what’s keepin’ young Liz Macca awake on such a fine evenin’? Any terrible deeds ye needs to be confessin’?” He’d asked cheekily.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I’d replied, eyes scannin’ an article ‘bout a band of delinquent youths bein’ charged with a house fire.

“So no terrible deeds then?” He’d asked amusedly, and I’d heard the soft whoosh of cigarette smoke leavin’ his nostrils.

“Nein, mein freund. Give us a ciggie, will ya?” I’d asked, lowerin’ the paper to look at him sittin’ on that chair in his favourite pair of striped pyjama bottoms and white t-shirt, black-framed Buddy Holly-esque specs hangin’ off his nose. Without movin’, he’d chucked the pack and and lighter my way, and I’d lit one without a word, takin’ a quick drag while foldin’ the newspaper off to my side. I’d settled back on the sofa, and shut my eyes as I’d felt the delicious odour of the tobacco tease my nostrils.

“Have you been out here long?” John had asked me and crackin’ my eyes open a bit, I’d seen him watchin’ me through the bright orange end of his cigarette as he’d taken another pull of it.

“A bit, I guess. Long enough to say ta-ra to the ginger dolly Mal scurried out of here,” I’d finished with a shake of my head and another drag of the ciggie.

“Your kindness knows no bounds, Lizzy,” John had laughed while scratchin’ the back of his big fat head.

“She told me she was such a fan of mine,”

“Really?! And to think that I gave her the bonk of her life!”

“Did no one ever tell ye that you shouldn’t go ‘bout tellin’ tales? Makes your neb grow.”  
John had chuckled, “I think it would be impossible for me neb, no matter how many tales I went ‘round sproutin’, to ever rival Richie’s!”

“Yeah, I guess you’ve a point there, Johnny boy, it would be a fairly impossible feat,” I’d agreed with a chuckle as I’d leaned forward to tap the ash burnin’ off the tip of my cigarette into the ashtray filled with cigarette butts. “Oi, John?”

“Yeah?”

“What’re you still doin’ awake? You’re like one of your aunt’s bloody cats when it comes to sleep,” I’d asked with a quirk of a curious eyebrow.

He’d shrugged, “It’s evadin’ me tonight. So I guess it’s fallin’ on ye to keep me entertained ‘til I kip off.” He’d given me a wide smile.

“Oh really? And why’s that then?” I’d asked with a sour look. I’d pushed my brown hair out of me face, pullin’ it behind my ears.

“It’s ‘cos yer my mate, and you know how George and Macca behave if they don’t get their beauty sleep. Bloody useless the next mornin’.”

“Why don’t you dig the book ya wrote out of your trunk and read for a bit, eh? You’ll be asleep ‘afore ya knows it,” I’d answered with an evil smile as I’d taken one last drag of the nub that’d remained of the cigarette.

“You know, just for that, I should ring the head of the fan club and tell her how beastly you are,” John had replied with a playfully indignant look.

“I’m tellin’ ya how it is, Johnny boy. Just tellin’ ya how it is.” I had paused to withdraw another one of his cigarettes, which I’d neglected to return, and lit it deftly before tossin’ both the pack and lighter at him. They’d struck the side of his big toe before clutterin’ to the side amidst the rubble of empty bottles of beer. “So how am I expected to keep ye entertained, John?”

“Poker?”

“No, you’re a lousy cheat. Knowin’ ye, you’ve an entire deck hidden in yer pants,” I’d frowned.

“Come on, it was just once –“

“Look mate, it’s fuckin’ disgustin’ to be find a Joker in my hand of card that actually has hairs on it from yer privates!” He’d broken into a fit of laughter at that, and I’d chucked a cushion roughly at him which had hit him splat against his fuckin’ face. I’d laughed as I’d seen his glasses come off his nose while he’d glared at me. “Don’t worry, Johnny, you’re still as lovely as ever, lovie,” I’d said with a wink and he’d chucked the cushion back at me. I’d had quick reflexes though and caught it before it could do much damage.

We’d sat there in silence for a few minutes, both of us puffin’ away at our fags, ‘til John had spoken, “Let’s have a chat then.”

“It’s too bloody late for a chat. Can’t we just sit here...quietly?” I’d sighed at his flustered look. “Well, go on then.” At his narrow-eyed look, I’d exhaled loudly. “What do you want to talk ‘bout then, eh?”

“I don’t know,” he’d replied, cigarette held between his lips, “you’re the bird here though, you’re supposed to be good at talkin’ about shite no one cares ‘bout to pass the time. It’s part of what makes ye a woman, other than havin’ girly bits...you know, like decoratin’ cakes and changin’ nappies.”

“Same as scratchin’ yer arse and neglectin’ to flush the loo after ye take a piss makes you a bloke, right?” I’d answered and John had nodded

“John, if you were in the mood for a chat, you shouldn’t have sent home the ginger-haired bird you were with earlier. I’m sure she would’ve wet her pants to have a chat with John-bloody-Lennon, formerly of Menlove Avenue, Liverpool.”

“I’d had enough of listenin’ to her jabber on while I was givin’ her a pull earlier. It was all I could do to not tell her give yer chin a rest, but the last thing I wanted to deal with was a cryin’ groupie – messy business that. You know how it is.”  
I’d shrugged and pulled my knees to my chest, wrappin’ an arm ‘round them as I’d returned my attention to my cigarette.

“Paul and I are goin’ to pay for Dad, Angie, and Ruthie to go to the Bahamas on holiday,” I’d said, curlin’ my toes ‘round the edge of the cushion under me. I’d rested the back of me head against the sofa’s back rest.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm hmm. Over the summer when it’s warm. Dad’s never travelled outside of Britain before; I think he’ll enjoy seein’ a bit of water that isn’t the River Dee,” I’d said with a small smile as I’d thought of me Dad tryin’ to not become red as a lobster on the beach. I’d thought to meself that I’d like to return to the Bahamas meself one day, and definitely not when the water was fuckin’ freezin’ as it’d been when we’d been there a few months before durin’ the filmin’ of what’d been our second film.

“Well good luck with that, I can’t see Jim McCartney willingly travellin’ to a foreign land,” John had replied with a chuckle and with a bit of a snort, I’d chuckled along ‘cos it was rather true. I didn’t think he’d be too keen on all the kids walkin’ around in their cozzies or bikinis.

We’d lapsed into a bit of silence then, cigarettes bein’ smoked until all that’d remained of ‘em were their butts. The hotel had been rather quiet, and other than the dimmed lights in the lounge, the atmosphere itself had been subdued and comfortable, relaxed even. I’d looked toward John from the side of my bent right knee, and I’d seen a quiet pensiveness over his face, rollin’ the ciggie with the glowin’ orange end from one end of his mouth to the other. I’d turned to look at the ceilin’, countin’ the number of tiles that ran horizontally across it.

I’d wondered why I wasn’t asleep yet or even feelin’ the need for it.

“Alf showed up at Kenwood a few weeks ago,” John’s voice had said, as disinterestedly.

“Who’s Alf? New gardener?”

“Me Dad,” he’d said simply, and fishin’ his finger into the pack of cigarettes, he’d pulled one out and lit it less than a second later.

“You have a Dad?” I’d asked without thinkin’, and then instantly regretted soundin’ so bloody dim. I'd heard the entire story 'bout John's Dad a while before.

“ ‘Course I do, not much of one, but yeah. Did no one ever tell ye that there is no such thing as a stork who goes ‘round depositin’ babies on doorways, Liz?” He’d raised both thick eyebrows at me, “Well you see, when a man a woman really think the other’s sexy, they get together and nine month later –“

“Bloody hell, John, I’m not stupid. So what’s this about your Dad showin’ up? I remember Richie mentionin’ that you’d met with him at Brian’s office last year, but what’s he doin’ showin’ up at your house now, eh?”

John had taken a pull of his cigarette before answerin’. “What do you think he wanted, Liz?” He’d shut his eyes tightly, the side of his face tight against the side of chair. “Money, fuckin’ money’s what he was after.” He’d exhaled loudly. “He showed up when I wasn’t there and Cyn kept him in the kitchen ‘til I arrived.”

He’d gotten a bit quiet but kept puffin’ at his cigarette. I’d kept quiet ‘cos I’d figured that he’d needed to say whatever he’d needed to say. I’d wondered to meself how often he and Paul had talked ‘bout these things; more often than John and I had apparently.

“Did you give him some? Money I mean?” I’d asked finally. I’d seen John shrug before he’d answered.

“A hundred pounds before I threw him out three days later.” Another bright flash of the lit end of his ciggie as he’d taken a drag, exhalin’ the stream of smoke through his nostrils seconds later.

“That’s generous of you, Johnny,” I’d started quietly, lowerin’ my bent knees so I’d be able to see him fully, “considerin’ everythin’ that happened.”

“He told me he was workin’ as a dishwasher at a hotel when he came to the NEMS office last year.” He’d looked at me straight in the eye, “I’m a fuckin’ Beatle, and me Dad was workin’ as a bloody dishwasher when he found out ‘bout us and decided it was time to make an appearance in me life once more.” He’d paused for a minute before goin’ on, “Serves him right, I suppose.”

There hadn’t been a need for me to say anythin’ back. I’d served the purpose that only each of the five of us could’ve served for the others – as a sounding board, that or a confessional. My role in that hadn’t been meant to have much of a speakin’ part.

“I’m never doin’ that to Jules, y’know.” His voice had been rough with somethin’ I couldn’t quite name. “My boy’s not goin’ to ever think that his Dad doesn’t give a shit about him, Liz. My boy’s not goin’ to think that he’s not worth lovin’ unless he’s in a fuckin’ rock n’ roll band that’s the biggest think to come out of England since....fuck, I don’t know.” There’d been a feelin’ stronger than anger in John’s voice, stronger than sadness really. I hadn’t known what to name it though.

“I know, John,” I’d nodded, but it’d been like he hadn’t seen me.

“I’m not doin’ that to my son, Liz. Fuckin’ hell, I’m not.” As he’d said it, I’d wondered why it’d sounded like the person he was tryin’ to convince of that, was hisself.

****

_Spring, 1967_

“Ta, Les.” I’d called to John’s driver, Les Anthony, as I’d slid out the door of my car, ignition still running, as he took me place and drove the car toward the garage to have it parked. It’d been an unusually bright day as I’d made me way up the steps to John’s Tudor mansion in Surrey, the English sunshine restin’ on my cheeks.

“Hullo, Lizzy luv. Can I offer you anything?” Cyn’d said to me as soon as she’d opened the door to their house. I’d shook my head in response as I crossed the doorway, “S’alright Cyn, thanks. Where’s John? He asked me to come ‘round –“ my words had been cut off as Julian, who’d come out of nowhere mind, had run straight into my stomachas his arms had gone tight ‘round me waist.

“Lizzy! Where’s Georgie Porgie?” Julian had asked me, lookin’ up at me with his wee little face, cheeks flushed.

“It’s nice to see you too, Jules.” I’d answered givin’ him a mock glare before bendin’ down to give him a squeeze. “Georgie Porgie’s gone up to Liverpool for the weekend to see his Mum and Dad.”

“Will he bring some of his Mummy’s scones when he comes back, Auntie Liz?” Julian had asked me, givin’ me one of those buttering-up smiles of his that he knew I couldn’t refuse – the little bugger.

“Yes, Julian. I made sure to tell me fella to remember to bring you back some of his Mum’s scones. ‘Cor, if it wasn’t for those scones would you even like us at all?!” I’d asked, makin’ a point of quiverin’ me lip and settin’ it down into a pout that would’ve made Paulie proud.

“Auntie Liz!” Julian had giggled into my neck.

“And to think of all the times I had to change yer bleedin’ nappies.” I’d shaken me head reprovingly at him while he’d wrapped his little hands ‘round loosened bits of my dark hair and tugged.

“You little bugger!” I’d laughed only to have him break into a fit of giggles at his naughtiness. “Just for that, I’ll be finishin’ off Georgie’s Mum’s scones on me own and won’t save you even one. I’m sure they’ll be mighty delicious!” My attempt at a glower had been shot to hell when Julian had looked at me hopefully and with a flash of his pearly little white teeth. “Well maybe one mind, but no more!” I’d sighed and couldn’t help giggling like a loon when he started pecking at my cheeks.

“You two are deplorable!” Cyn had said to me with a shake of her head, but still smilin’ herself. “When’s George due back?” She’d asked as I’d pulled myself up.

“He said he’d be drivin’ back tomorrow afternoon, so sometime tomorrow evenin’.” I’d answered as I’d briefly thought of me husband who I’d only been married to for ‘bout three months at that point.

“You didn’t want to go home to see your Dad?”

“Dad, Ang, and Ruthie have gone to Blackpool for the week so there would’ve been no point.” Rufflin’ Julian’s hair a bit, somethin’ that annoyed him terribly, I’d turned to Cyn once more. “Is John in the sunroom, Cyn?” At the mention of my band mate and her husband a bit of a subdued look had crossed her face before leavin’ as quickly as it’d come. I hadn’t really let meself think too much of it as she’d said he was. Minutes later I’d knocked on the door leadin’ into the sunroom before lettin’ myself in.

John had been sittin’ with a guitar on his knee when I’d entered the room. “Harry let you out did he?” He’d asked after briefly lookin’ up at me through the round lenses of his glasses.

“You sure it’s not the other way ‘round, luv?” I’d asked with a grin before settlin’ down on the sofa next to him. “George’s gone back home for the weekend to visit his parents. Your boy’s already made a point of lettin’ me know he expects to be showered with scones ‘pon Mr. Harrison’s return. So what’ve I been summoned for?”

“I know ya secretly love bein’ summoned to the head master’s office.” John had answered givin’ me a bit of a lecherous smile over his paisley-printed shoulder.

“You pervy bastard!” I’d laughed before reachin’ over and rufflin’ the back of his newly shorn hair, and then pulled meself up. Seconds later I’d grabbed one of his guitars and started playin’ a bit of Buddy Holly’s _That’ll Be the Day_. “Right so is there any particular reason Mr. Pilgrim specially requested mine presence today?” I’d asked, referencin’ John’s code name for receivin’ calls at home.

“Does a bloke need a reason to want to see a mate, eh?”

“When ye tell me housekeeper that it’s of the most prodigious importance that I make haste to the house on St. George’s Hill, there had better be, mate. She was quite worried, the old girl was.”

John had shrugged. “And you, young Liz? Did the fate of the Smart Beatle never cross yer mind?”

“What’s that sayin’ Johnny boy, ‘Only the good die young?’ eh?”

“True.” He’d laughed before settlin’ back into the sofa.

“So you was ‘bout to tell me why you’d worried me housekeeper...?”

“I’m tired of this fuckin’ place – let’s go somewhere! Come ‘ead, let’s go pay Paulie a visit!”John had sprung up excitedly.

“What? Yeh made me come to drive ya Paul’s house?"

“I’ve haven’t left this house for four bloody days. Carn’t ye see that I’m climbin’ the walls here?” John had run towards one of his walls and started clawin’ at it madly, laughin’ maniacally all the while.

“Both Cyn and Jules are ‘round, why don’t you take ‘em out ‘stead of putterin’ around?” I’d asked. He’d turned to look at me impassively.

“You know you’re becomin’ a drag since you’ve gone and acquired a husband, Macca Jr, even if it’s George. I’ve had enough of bein’ in the house with both of ‘em. Let’s go to Paulie’s – it’s a Saturday night, you know we can always count on him for somethin’ good.”

“John.” I’d started before pausing to take a deep breath, knowin’ full and well that he wasn’t goin’ to like what I had to say. “Ta for the invite and all, but I’m really not feelin’ up to goin’ to one of Paul’s parties. I don’t mind watchin’ Jules if you and Cyn want to head over though. Might be good to get out...just the two of you, hmm?”

He’d shrugged, not lookin’ as pleased with the idea as I’d figured he’d be. I’d decided to not think of this too much as I’d reached for the pack of cigarettes which had been layin’ off to the side and lit it without a word. “You’re no fun. I should’ve rung Richie up instead,” he’d said with sigh before rubbin’ the side of his bearded face.

“Probably,” I’d agreed with a grin. He’d looked at me sourly from behind his granny specs.

“What happened to the light-hearted dolly of easy virtue who weasled her way into me band?” He’d asked with a flustered sigh. I hadn’t bothered to answer, returin’ his guitar where it’d been.

Eventually, I’d noticed John gettin’ anxious. For the past twenty minutes he’d been sittin’ on that sofa, hands tight on his knees as he’d looked out onto the pool area. He’d raised cup after cup of tea which I’d assumed had just as much LSD as actual tea, and I’d seen him drink it down without a pause. He hadn’t offered any and I hadn’t asked.

“Alright, John?” I’d asked.

“Mmm.” He’d muttered before layin’ back on the sofa and tucked his chin into his neck so that his wire-rimmed teetered on the edge of his nose. It’d been obvious that I’d foiled his plans for the evenin’ of goin’ over to Paul’s. He’d sat there crossly while I’d wondered to meself why I hadn’t left yet.

Just as I’d been get up and head out, Julian had come into the room with sheets of paper covered with drawings. He’d been set to make his way to John. “Daddy, I want you to –“

“Not now, Julian,” John had said irritably, rubbin’ his eyelids.

“Look Daddy –“

“I said not now Julian, bloody hell!” John had yelled and with a frown, I’d stood quickly and had wrapped an arm tenderly ‘bout his little shoulders.

“Jules, did you know that I’m a terrible artist?” I’d asked him with what I hoped was a convincin’ enough smile. “And you’re such a good artist – just look at that picture!” I’d exclaimed lookin’ at the drawings he’d still held in his hands. “Will you show me how you drew that?” I’d asked him and when he’d smiled up at me, his eyes a bit sad, I’d taken his little hand, and together we’d gone to the kitchen where I’d learned how to draw a cow, and a bicycle, and what he’d told me was a cat with purple fur.

****

_Spring, 1979_

“...but can you believe that he’s sixteen now, Liz? Fuckin’ hell, I was a piece of shit when I was sixteen!” John’s voice had said to me through the telephone.

“Not a lot’s changed since then, mate, sorry to disappoint you,” I’d chuckled into the receiver.

“Well ye do have a point,” he’d conceded with a laugh.

“Did he leave this morning?”

“Yeah, Fred saw him to the airport a few hours ago.” John had grown quiet and after a minute or so I’d wondered if the line had dropped the connection.

“John, John you still there?”

“Yeah,” he’d replied but hadn’t said anythin’ else.

“Alright, John?” I’d asked, even though I’d already known the answer to that. I’d grown less oblivious with age.

“I’m a horrible father, Liz. It’s my own fuckin’ kid and shit –“ I’d heard the sudden intake of breath on his end. “He’s sixteen years old, and I barely know him.”

If I’d said anything it would’ve been a lie ‘cos everythin’ John had been sayin’ was true. Close as me own brothers he was, but I couldnt’ pretend otherwise.

“You should come to England, John, just you...spend a little time, just the two of you, hmm?”

“It won’t make up for the past ten years, fuck....the past sixteen years of his life, will it?” John had sighed tiredly.

“No, but it could be a start, maybe?” I’d looked across the lounge where I’d seen George and Sam sittin’ legs crossed on the floor, both dark heads huddled together. I’d watched George curlin’ Sam’s fingers over the guitar’s neck and settle his fingers into the B7 chord as Louise had crept and crawled over him.

John had grunted in response, and I hadn’t known whether he was agreein’ or not. I’d spoken to him a week or so later, and he’d told me, “Mother doesn’t think it’s a good idea to go to visit England now. Maybe as it gets closer to the holidays, I’ll invite him to come, y’know, get some father-son bondin’ time ‘n all.” He’d finished with a laugh.

“Sounds like fun,” I’d said, glad the disappointment hadn’t been obvious in me voice, or maybe it had been, but John hadn’t said anythin’ about it.

Before he’d rung off though – Sean had had a dentist’s appointment – John had told me, “He really is a great kid, y’know.”

“Oh yeah, Sean’s a very sweet little boy.”

“I meant Julian. Don’t know what parts of me he has in him,” John had chuckled into the phone, “maybe I’ll figure it out durin’ our father-son bondin’ time,” he’d said the last bit as it were a joke.

“I hope so, Johnny boy. You might even surprise yerself."


	10. The Interview: Gap Filler # 9

**Title**: The Interview: Gap Filler # 9

Another one of those Gap Fillers which I believed was necessary to write about. I did my best to not make it too dramatic (yes, it's one of those, but hopefully that won't keep you from reading!), but only you can be the judge of that. :-)

As always, comments are most appreciated!

**LIVERPOOL ECHO**

7 OCTOBER 1966

_McCARTNEY-HARRISION._ Mr. James McCartney of Heswall, Cheshire, announces the marriage of his daughter, Mary Elizabeth, to Mr. George Harrison, son of Mr. Harold and Mrs. Louise Harrison of Liverpool on 5 October, 1966. The civil ceremony was held at Marylebone Registry Office in London. Mrs. Cynthia Lennon and the bride’s brother, Mr. James Paul McCartney, served as witnesses. Both bride and groom are musicians. Mr. and Mrs. Harrison will reside in Surrey following a brief holiday.

**PRESS CONFERENCE. WEDNESDAY, 5 OCTOBER.**

_The Savoy Hotel, Lancaster Ballroom_

[LIZ MCCARTNEY and GEORGE HARRISON enter room. MALCOLM EVANS and NEIL ASPINALL follow behind.]

BRIAN EPSTEIN: We ask that you please limit yourselves to two questions. Thank you.

REPORTER #1: George, Liz...Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, congratulations to the both of you!

GEORGE HARRISON: Thanks very much.

LIZ MCCARTNEY: Thank you.

REPORTER #1: Liz, are you planning on changing your professional name? [laughter from  
reporters, GEORGE HARRISON, and LIZ MCCARTNEY]

LIZ MCCARTNEY: I haven’t decided yet, but you’ll be the first to know!

REPORTER #1: This has certainly been kept quiet! How long have the two of you been an item?

GEORGE HARRISON: Long enough. Next question?

REPORTER # 2: Liz, what is it like being married?

LIZ MCCARTNEY: [laughs] I’ve only been married three hours, I am not sure yet. It’s been ok  
so far though, lovely really.

REPORTER # 2: Do you plan on taking any time out from The Beatles, Liz?

LIZ MCCARTNEY: Well, we’re all taking a break for a few months, aren’t we George?

GEORGE HARRISON: The group is taking some time off. We will be returning to the studio to start recording the next LP close to the New Year.

REPORTER #2: So you are not planning to leave The Beatles now that you’ve married, Liz?

BRIAN EPSTEIN: Just two questions per reporter if you please –

GEORGE HARRISON: No, it’s ok, Brian. No, Liz is not planning on leaving The Beatles anytime soon. Unless you haven’t told me something, dear? [reporters laugh]

LIZ MCCARTNEY: No, I am not planning on it.

BRIAN EPSTEIN: Both George and Liz are members of The Beatles and there has not been and will be no talk of either leaving. Their marriage and private life is separate from their working and obviously very close personal relationships with the other three. They are both very professional individuals.

REPORTER # 2: Thank you.

REPORTER # 3: George, is it true that the tour was ended prematurely so that you and Liz would be able to get married?

GEORGE HARRISON: The tour schedule was set before Liz and I got together, so the answer would be no.

REPORTER # 4: When did you decide to get married?

GEORGE HARRISON: A few days ago. [reporters laugh]

LIZ MCCARTNEY: It was very quick and spur-of-the-moment.

REPORTER # 5: Are you planning on taking a honeymoon?

GEORGE HARRISON: We may go on holiday for a few weeks. We haven’t decided yet.

REPORTER # 5: Was Paul the only other bandmate to attend?

GEORGE HARRISON: Other than us, you mean? [laughter from reporters] Ringo is currently only holiday with his family and John is busy filming in Spain, so Paul was the only one available to come.

REPORTER # 6: Liz, do you think the dynamic in the group will change much now that you and George are married?

LIZ MCCARTNEY: No, I don’t think so. He’s still George [points to GEORGE HARRISON] and I’m still Liz; he’s still the lead guitarist and I still play alternating lead and rhythm guitar. We’ve been band mates longer than we’ve been anything else, so I don’t think the working dynamic will change much in the band.

REPORTER # 6: Will you be starting a family soon?

GEORGE HARRISON: Bloody hell, we just got married! [laughter from reporters and LIZ MCCARTNEY] Give us a while to get used to that first!

REPORTER # 7: Was it love at first sight?

LIZ MCCARTNEY: God, no! [laughs]

GEORGE HARRISON: More like four or five thousandth sight! [laughs] Finally wore her down at the end. [laughter from reporters]

REPORTER #8: Liz, for those fans out there who are mourning your marriage to the last remaining bachelor Beatle – excluding your own brother, that is – do you have anything you’d like to tell them?

LIZ MCCARTNEY: There’s no reason to be sad. Our getting married has nothing to do with them. We got married because we wanted to and no other reason than that.

GEORGE HARRISON: If our fans are true fans they should want us to be happy, and I am...we are. [LIZ MCCARTNEY nods]. As she said, she’s still Liz, I’m still George. That won’t ever change. We’ll still be making music in the same band, we’re just married now is all.

BRIAN EPSTEIN: Unfortunately, we’re out of time. George and Liz are scheduled to travel to Liverpool this afternoon. Thank you for coming today, and please help yourself to refreshments before you leave.

REPORTER #1: Congratulations to the new Mr. and Mrs. Harrison! [loud murmuring of congratulations]

GEORGE HARRISON: Thanks very much. Thank you all.

LIZ MCCARTNEY: Thank you.

[GEORGE HARRISON and LIZ MCCARTNEY leave room.]

**February, 1967**

“Oh yeah, I remember how it was when you returned from the Bahamas,” Brian Jones had said to me teasingly with a cheeky smile from where he’d been sittin’ off to the side in studio, striped trouser leg crossed over the other. He and Mick had come to the studio to hear us lay down a few takes. At some point the three of us had started chattin’ ‘bout the filmin’ of Help and I’d mentioned how bleedin’ cold it’d been while we’d been there.

“Is that right?” I’d asked him with an amused look durin’ a break between take 11 or 15 of _Lovely Rita._

“You were rather frisky, Miss Elizabeth,” Brian Jones had continued, leanin’ forward in his chair ‘til his blond hair hung ‘round his face. He’d had a wide smile on his face.

“I think the dope’s rattled yer brain, mate,” I’d answered with a chuckle, “I could’ve sworn it was the other way ‘round!” Brian Jones had burst into a fit of laughter that Mick had joined in on. I wouldn’t have called Brian Jones and I great mates by any means, but we’d gotten on fairly well – at least well enough to be able to take the mickey out of each other on occasion. Our on-off datin’ had come to a natural end after ‘bout a year in ’65 and it hadn’t been ugly or acrimonious, not that it would’ve been really, what with the unserious way we’d had with it.

As it’d been, I’d been glad that me bands mates had been occupied with their makeshift kazoos and hadn’t given the appearance of payin’ much attention to whatever I’d been chattin’ ‘bout with either of the two Stones. Soon enough thereafter, our break had ended and we’d returned to the task at hand. As the night had passed, both Mick and Brian Jones had exchanged good byes with all of us and had taken off for the evenin’; it’d been a good run-through I’d thought to meself as we’d later on collected our own gear and headed out of Studio 2.

Most nights George and I had driven into the city together, while others, we’d taken our own cars. That evenin’ we’d driven to Abbey Road in George’s Mini, and even though I’d known that we were both comfortable with the quiet of drivin’ through the dark London streets into the country, the quiet that’d settled inside the car hadn’t been the comfortable kind – it’d been a bit thick to be honest. I’d looked at him out of the corner of me eye, his long brown hair obscurrin’ most of his features; although I’d been a bit dim at times when it came to readin’ things, I’d realised one thing: he hadn’t looked at me since we’d left the studio.

“Alright, George?” I’d asked with a turn of my head.

“Yeah,” he’d answered without takin’ his eyes off the road ahead of us. I’d shrugged a bit, figurin’ that he’d probably been feelin’ rather tired and wanted nothin’ more than to have a kip.

When we’d arrived at Kinfauns, I’d gone ‘bout makin’ meself a cup of tea before headin’ off for a bath. I usually would’ve offered George one, but since I’d figured he was tired, I’d let it be. As I’d submerged meself in the bath tub, hot water comin’ up to my chin, I’d heard George movin’ ‘round in our bedroom, and I’d assumed he was gettin’ hisself ready for bed. I’d shut my eyes tightly as I’d submerged my head into the tub, and then came back up a second or so later.

I’d rested the back of my head ‘gainst the edge of the tub, and I’d heard the shuffle of George’s feet on the floor and shortly thereafter heard him settle hisself on the toilet. I’d cracked one eye open to look at him. He’d been sittin’ on the loo, bent forward with his elbows restin’ on his knees, hands laced together; he’d been lookin’ at me then with a blank expression on his face, his mouth had been a straight line under the moustache he and the others had grown.

He’d looked at me with that same oddly blank expression for a few seconds, eyes dark. I’d wrapped my quickly prunin’ fingers ‘round the curled rim of the tub as I’d looked back at him through half-lidded eyes.

“You’re me wife, Liz,” George had started, and I’d been a bit taken aback by the anger in his voice, “_mine_. I don’t want ye havin’ naught else to do with yer old mate Brian, ye hear?” His voice had held an edge he’d never used with me. Even in all the years that we’d been nothin’ but mates and group mates, he’d never used the cold-angry tone with me that he’d used then. Those dark brown eyes of his that’d seemed to hold nothin’ but a mixture of tenderness, amusement, and even sweetness for the past few months, were almost black with a look that’d made me uncomfortable.

“George, what’s goin’ on?” I’d asked.

If it would’ve been possible for his eyes to become colder or angrier, they’d done so. “Don’t act like yer stupid, ‘cos you’re bloody not!” His mouth had gone tight at the edges. I’d caught the whiteness of his knuckles; he must’ve been holdin’ his hands quite tightly together.

“Look mate, I’ve no idea what yer fuckin’ problem is, and I won’t know unless you tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on.” I’d returned his look with a glare of me own.

“I know that you was a bit of a slag before we got together. I know ‘bout all the blokes ye’d fuck while we was still tourin’, but when we got together, I figured it’d be best to leave all that shit in the past.” He’d stopped for a moment, his face takin’ on that blank expression from earlier. I’d felt my face lose its colour; I’d had the feelin’ as if I’d just been slapped. “But I’m not goin’ to sit ‘round with a smile on me face while yer flirtin’ with that fuckin’ bent bastard.”

I hadn’t been slapped. I’d been fuckin’ stabbed, knife twisted just so to lodge it that much deeper. “I wasn’t flirtin’ with Brian,” I’d started coolly before pushin’ meself up from the tub and got out, makin’ a point of movin’ past him. I’d wrapped a towel ‘round my body. “You know somethin’ George, ye have no bloody right to judge me for anythin’ I’ve done in me life before we got together; the bloody cheek of it – who the hell are ye to tell me anythin’ ‘bout what I got up to on tour? What with all the bints ye’ve gotten off with over the years, eh?!” I’d turned on my heel and walked to the bedroom. “You have no right, none.”

I’d pulled a nightgown out of the wardrobe, and after havin’ towelled off, I’d pulled it over me. I’d straight up ignored George when I’d seen him follow me into our bedroom, doin’ me best to keep my breathin’ even, and worse yet, not give into what the hot wetness behind me eyes was tellin’ me loud and clear.

“I heard the both of you laughin’ over how frisky you were when we came back to England after we finished filmin’ in the Bahamas,” he said accusingly in my direction, eyes still dark with anger.

“It was a joke, George. We was just havin’ a laugh,” I’d responded, each word drippin’ with coldness. “He didn’t mean nothin’ by it, and I didn’t take it as such.”

“You’re my bleedin’ wife, Liz!” He’d yelled angrily, movin’ forward ‘til he was standin’ close to me. “Why the fuck is you lettin’ another bloke, an old boyfriend at that, have a laugh with you ‘bout that?”

“It didn’t mean anythin’.”

“I don’t care,” he’d continued with a glower, “it’s over, Liz. I can’t help the wanker bein’ ‘round when one of the others invites him to come by, but you’re not to have anythin’ to do with him.” His words had been filled with warnin’ and gave the appearance of leavin’ no room for argument. I’d felt a rush of coldness travel up and down my spine, and felt my entire body grow tense.

“You’re not me Dad to tell me what to do, or to tell me who I can and cannot have anythin’ to do with –“

“I’m your husband!”

“My husband, yes, not my fuckin’ owner!” I’d glared at him angrily, feelin’ a sense of cold fury travellin’ through my veins. I hadn’t recalled ever feelin’ so bloody angry in all me life, feelin’ like I’d been betrayed. I’d taken a quick breath, welcomin’ the sensation of bein’ doused in ice water – it wouldn’t have done for me to have become a sobbin’ mess. “I’m goin’ to bed,” I’d said turnin’ away from him.

His hand had come up and wrapped itself ‘round my arm. It’d been hot. “I mean it, Liz. It’s done.”

“Get your hand off of me,” I’d said brushin’ him off and slid under the duvet. George had grabbed both of my shoulders roughly, pushin’ me back into the mattress. The look on his face had continued to be a dark one but I’d stared up at him coldly, darin’ to do what he would.

“It’s done, Liz, ye hear me?” He’d said quietly in a voice that would’ve made most other birds cry, or even flinch. I wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction.

“You’ve no right to dictate to me, George. None whatsoever.” His fingers had continued to dig into my shoulders and I’d bitten the inside of my bottom lip to not flinch at the discomfort of it. “If what you wanted in a wife was a cowerin’ little miss, content to stay at home warmin’ yer dinner, who’d do whatever the fuck ye tell her, then ye married the wrong bird. Or maybe I married the wrong bloke, I don’t know.” I’d surprised meself at the cold rancour in me voice. I’d hadn’t imagined I’d ever use such a thing with him of all people.

George’s eyes had gone wide before furrowin’ under his thick eyebrows. His face had gone pale and I’d felt a brief sense of pride in that. “What are ye sayin’ then?” His voice had grown angrily and he’d pushed himself away from me, lookin’ down at me with barely contained fury. “Ye want to go off with ‘im then? Is that it?”

“Look George, it’s almost five in the fuckin’ mornin’. I’m tired. I’m goin’ to sleep.” With that, I had turned on my side, pullin’ the duvet to my chin. I’d heard our bedroom door slam what’d felt like ages later, and had then heard the rev of a car engine. I hadn’t slept much that night, to be honest.

I’d found him asleep on the sofa downstairs that afternoon. Still smartin’ from what’d happened the night before, I hadn’t woken him. I’d dressed meself, pulled on my boots, and headed out to Sunny Heights for lunch with Mo. She hadn’t asked if anythin’ was botherin’ me and I hadn’t volunteered any information. I’d hung ‘round their house ‘til it was late evenin’ and I followed Richie’s car into town.

George had already been at the studio when I’d arrived, as had John and Paul. I’d briefly exchanged greetings with all of ‘em before I’d headed into the control room where I’d spent the next few hours workin’ with George Martin on one of the various orchestral arrangements that we’d be usin’ on the new LP. I’d made no move to approach George that evenin’ and he hadn’t either. Paul had meandered into the control room at some point, had briefly asked me if I’d known what was goin’ on with George, but I’d shrugged and told him no.

A few hours later, Ringo had come into the control room and had invited me to come along to the Bag O’ Nails ‘cos some really great band was supposed to be performin’. I hadn’t bothered to ask if George would be comin’ along, I’d given him a small smile and told him that I’d follow him, and as it had turned out, Paul and John, there. I’d eventually gone downstairs into the studio, gave John a brief run-down of what me and George Martin had come up with for one of his songs, and when I caught George lookin’ in my direction, I’d stared back blankly.

“You goin’ to this thing?” He’d asked me as he’d pulled a ciggie and lighter from the inside pocket of his coat, firin’ it up in one go. I’d nodded in reply.

I’d headed onto the roof, pullin’ out one of the thinly rolled joints from my trouser pocket that I’d tended to take ‘round with me in those days. I’d leaned against the brick wall until I was sittin’ against it, knees against my chest, starin’ up into the clear London night and tryin’ to make out the stars. I’d taken a drag of the joint, lettin’ the smoke tease my nostrils until I’d had to exhale. I’d figured that I had at least fifteen minutes before Mal came lookin’ for me so I could head off with ‘em.

After what’d happened last night, it would be good to go out for a night of fun with my mates. I’d deliberately avoided lettin’ meself think too much on what’d happened, ‘cos I’d known that it would lead to somewhere I wasn’t comfortable goin’ to – not then anyhow. So I’d taken another drag and focused on thinkin’ about the other arrangements I’d begin workin’ on with George Martin shortly.

When I’d heard the door leadin’ onto the roof open, I’d known who it was. At the time, he’d been the last person I’d wanted to see really, I’d have much rather not talked ‘bout anythin’ with him then, but obviously he hadn’t been of the same mind. Overcomin’ my urge to leave and get out of there, I’d taken another pull of the thinly rolled ciggie, and turned my head up to look at him. His face had been half-covered in moonlight and shadow, settlin’ over the sharp angles.

“Here,” I’d said with a blank look, passin’ him the joint, makin’ a point of not lettin’ our fingers touch.

George had taken it and had quickly sat himself a few feet away from me. I’d laid the back of my head against the brick wall, starin’ back up into the night time sky. I’d heard the soft sound of George takin’ a drag. I’d tucked my chin into my chest for a second and caught sight of him tappin’ his plimsolls against the ground. I’d waited for him to hand the ciggie back to me, but after a minute or so, I gave up.

“Liz,” he’d started, and I’d heard a quiet sort of timid way that I don’t remember ever havin’ heard him use before. I’d looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He’d been starin’ forward, knees bent and pulled before him so that he was able to rest the bottom of his wrists on ‘em. “What time did you head out today?”

“Dunno,” I’d answered finally, “early enough I guess.”

“Ringo said you spent the afternoon with ‘em,” George had said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Liz, I don’t know what to –“

“I don’t want to talk ‘bout that right now, George. Just drop it will ya,” I’d interrupted him coldly, and had then looked back up at the sky.

Seconds later, he’d been crouched in front of me, his dark hair fallin’ over his face, lookin’ at me with what I’d taken to be a pained expression. “Liz, I’m sorry for last night. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t.”

“Yer right, mate, ye can’t.” I’d looked up at him blankly. “Look George, maybe it’s best that we know what we know ‘bout each other now instead of goin’ on not knowin’.”

George’s face had gone pale, losin’ every semblance of colour from his face. “What’re you sayin’ Liz?” He’d asked me quietly, eyes wide.

I’d taken a deep breath and let it out slowly. “George, I can’t spend me life worryin’ that yer goin’ to turn into a right bastard if I have a laugh with an old friend of mine, even if it’s someone I dated before. What happened before we got together shouldn’t matter anymore, but apparently you don’t think the same.”

“Liz, I was stupid – a fuckin’ idiot who should’ve just kept his gob shut – and I’m sorry for the things I said to ye...for what I did –“

“And ye should be ‘cos what I got up to before we got together ain’t any of your business, just like I can’t hold what you did for years and years against you. Ye have no bloody right to ‘ave said the things you said to me, or to call me a slag.” I’d glared up angrily at him, unable to keep the hurt from creepin’ into me voice.

“I know that Liz, I do. Ya know I don’t think yer a slag; I was just talkin’ out of me arse and I’m sorry for it.” George had gone quiet, lookin’ at uncomfortable as I’d imagined I did. “But ye can’t expect me to just sit there and not...fuckin’ want to rip that wanker’s head off for sayin’ those things to you, especially considerin’...well, what went on with you two.”

I’d turned to look at him, had seen the stillness that’d settled over his face, and I’d wanted nothin’ more than to get out of there. I’d felt a terrible feelin’ a restlessness ‘bout all if it. “George, I can’t do this right now. I need to get away from this for a little while,” I’d sighed, not even sure if he could understand.

“I said I was sorry, Liz,” he’d said, lookin’ at me with a feelin’ I’d once heard described as ‘beseechingly’ by one of my primary school teachers. I’d felt meself wantin’ to soften towards him, but I hadn’t been able to. He pushed himself up ‘til he was standin’ in front of me.

“Yeah, I know. But what ‘bout the next time, eh? What’re you goin’ to do, what’re you goin’ to say the next time I meet an old ex-boyfriend and he says mentions somethin’ ‘bout our time together?”

“Look Liz, I don’t know what you want me to tell ye –“

“I just want you to understand somethin’ George,” I’d started, consciously forcin’ meself to not close in within meself, “you’re not my owner, you can’t tell me what to do like I’m a fuckin’ kid and expect me to do it, ‘cos it doesn’t work that way. You’ve no right to tell me who I can and cannot have anythin’ to do like you’re me dad, ‘cos yer not, even if it’s someone I dated at one point. You either trust me or ye don’t, it’s as simple as that.” I stopped to take a deep breath, knowin’ I was layin’ it out there, straight up as I possibly could. “We’re fuckin’ Beatles, George. We’ve played in the same band for years now, so you know how it is, and ye know what’s out there. If we spend all our time worryin’ ‘bout what the other gets up to this won’t have a chance in hell of workin’ out. I’m not goin’ to live that way, mate, and if yer idea of keepin’ the peace is tellin’ me what I can do and who I can see, then ye married the wrong bird.”

I’d pushed meself up from the floor and dusted off the back pockets of my trousers. I hadn’t looked at him as I’d walked past him to go downstairs to the studio. I’d found Mal in the reception area and he’d told me that the others had already left for the club, but that they’d be expectin’ me. I’d shrugged when he’d asked ‘bout George.

The Bag O’ Nails had been bustlin’ with activity as it usually was, and though I’d had a drink and another drag off a joint in the loud venue, I hadn’t been particularly enjoyin’ meself. I’d done me best to not look ‘round too much to see if George had come along, confused and unsure ‘bout the outcome of all of it. I hadn’t stayed too long, especially when I’d caught sight of members from the Stones comin’ over to our table. I’d excused meself and headed out into the night, not knowin’ what to expect.

The drive back to Kinfauns had been an uneasy one, partly ‘cos of everythin’ that happened last night and what’d occurred earlier that very evenin’. I’d asked meself for the first time if maybe I should’ve been like any properly raised girl from Liverpool and just gone along with whatever George’d wanted. Howver, soon as the thought had crossed me head, I’d know that it would’ve been impossible for me to do so; I couldn’t sit passively by and let me life be decided for me, even if it was by me husband, who’d disappointed me terribly, if truth be told.

As I’d pulled my car into the drive, I’d made out a lone figure sittin’ on the front steps. He’d been smokin’ a cigarette, arms crossed on his splayed knees. He’d watched me silently as I’d turned the key in the ignition, and didn’t take his eyes off of me as I’d closed the door behind me and circled ‘round the boot and headed towards the steps. I’d sat meself next to him, and had reached for the pack of fags at his side. As I’d brought the ciggie to my lips, I’d heard him speak.

“It won’t happen again, Liz. Any of it, I won’t ever happen again.” He’d turned to look at me with such a look of naked pain on his face, sadness, and I’d squeezed my knee to not reach over to wrap my hand ‘round his.

“George—“

“Let me finish,” he’d said sharply before lettin’ out a jagged breath. “I’m a fool, and you’ve no idea how bloody awful I feel for what I told ye last night, for handlin’ ye the way I did. Yer right, what happened before we got together shouldn’t matter, and it doesn’t...it won’t.” He’d looked at me intently. “I’m sorry, Lizzy. I don’t know what else to say.”

I’d done what had come natural then, and had shuffled over, and wrappin’ my arm through his, I’d laid my head against his shoulder. He’d done the same, movin’ his fingers through mine and until we were palm to palm and he was holdin’ it so tightly against his. “I love you,” he’d said quietly and I’d nodded, feelin’ the warmth of our hands against my trouser-covered thigh.

“I’m not goin’ to live that way,” I’d said before buryin’ my forehead against his collarbone, breathin’ him in through the material of his shirt. I’d instantly been reminded of how much I’d hated sleepin’ alone the night before.

“It won’t happen again, Liz.” The conviction in his voice had made my heart feel heavy.

“Ok,” I’d answered quietly and had felt him wrap and arm around my waist. His hold had been tender and made me feel as if I was as fragile as glass.

“I want ye to know somethin’, Lizzy.” He’d tilted my face up with his knuckle ‘til we were eyeball to eyeball almost. His eyes had been so dark. “I didn’t marry the wrong bird, don’t ye ever say that again. I’m a fuckin’ idiot who should watch what he says, but I’ve never for a moment thought I married the wrong bird. I love ye,” he’d wrapped a hand ‘round my cheek, lookin’ more ashamed than I’d ever seen him be. “I love you rather desperately actually, Lizzy. I can’t stand it y'know,” his voice had gone soft, “the thought of bein’ without ye. I can’t stand it. I’m sorry for the things I said to you, the way I treated you, it’ll never happen again.”

Pullin’ meself up, I’d stretched a hand down towards him, and together we’d headed indoors. Soon as the door had closed behind us, I’d buried my face in his neck, feelin’ his heart beat beat wildly against my mouth, as I’d reached for the top button of his shirt.

**July, 1969**

It’d been Marianne Faithfull who’d rung Apple to pass on a message to me: Brian Jones was dead. He’d been found floating in his pool at his home in East Sussex. I’d lost contact with Brian over the year, the last time I’d seen him had been towards the end of the previous year when they’d been filmin’ what would be The Rolling Stones’ _Rock and Roll Circus_, and to be honest, I’d been really put off by how much of a drug addict he’d become. Mind, I couldn’t claim come out smellin’ of roses when it came to the drug business, but after givin’ up LSD a year or so earlier, I’d stuck to smokin’ my ciggie, dope, and drink; Brian had been one of few strung out drug fiends I’d known of.

I’d wondered, after receivin’ word, if my complacence ‘bout the entire bloody thing – all those patronising/amused looks as he made a fool out of himself at some point of another – along with what appeared to be everyone else’s couldn’t be compared to...handin’ him a loaded gun with which to off hisself. _Do whatever you want, Brian, just keep me out of it. It ain’t no skin off my back. _

As it’d been, I’d been a bit bothered by it. He’d been just one of a few that I’d known of who’d died from their addictions, but it’d shaken me up. That evenin’ after headin’ back home, I’d filled George in on what’d happened, and unsurprisingly, had encouraged me to go to the funeral. He’d kept his word. Since what’d occurred years before, he hadn’t spoken or treated me that way again. I’d sighed, curlin’ up against him on our sofa, and had fallen asleep to the sensation of him pullin’ his fingers through my hair soothingly.

Days later, he’d seen me off to Cheltenham with a kiss before askin’ me to ring when I arrived at the hotel. And when I’d returned home after a day or so, he’d greeted me with his poor excuse for a pot of tea and a plate of veg curry. I’d been glad to be home.

**Late 2001**

“Come here,” he’d said tiredly.

“Give me a few minutes, I’m almost done packin’.” I’d said as I’d laid another shirt over the neat pile in the suitcase. We were set to depart for New York the followin’ day.

“Stop that for a minute, Liz. Come here,” he’d continued in that same tired voice. I’d looked over at him, bent as I’d been over the case. He’d been layin’ on our bed, his grey-haired head on a pillow as he’d watched with me those brown eyes of his that hadn’t aged a day.

“I’m almost done, can you –“

“Lizzy,” he’d said quietly, and I’d sighed, before doin’ as he’d asked. He’d looked so tired and gaunt, and I’d tried to not look at him too intently for fear that he’d be able to read me head – a skill he’d seemed to acquire over the thirty-five years of our marriage – and know the thoughts goin’ through it.

“D’you want somethin’ to eat, Georgie? Want me to fix you a cuppa? I’ve a nice Darjeeling I found in town a few days ago. Let me just –“

“I’m fine, come here, “he’d interrupted with an even look. He’d patted the side next to him on the bed. I’d given him what I’d hoped was a cheerful enough smile as I’d done as he’d asked – he was forever gettin’ on me to smile more often or else me frown would set and forever ruin me looks. The wanker. I’d sat meself on the edge of the bed.

“Happy, you randy bugger?” I’d asked with a laugh that had sounded hollow even to my ears. It’d been so bloody hard to laugh ‘bout this, to remind meself that I had to smile, when all I’d truly wanted was to go into the middle of a bloody field and scream my head off.

He’d cracked a bit of a smile before answerin’, “Give me a minute and I will be!” He’d given me a lecherous wink and I’d been unable to not smile. He’d raised a hand and laid it over mine, strokin’ my palm with his fingertips. I’d sat there for a few minutes, lettin’ him hold my hands, until I’d felt it was safe to make a move to stand.

“I need to finish,” I’d started but he hadn’t let go.

“No you don’t. Leave it for now.”

“George, our flight—“

“Leave it,” he’d continued quietly, and I’d done as he’d asked, ‘cos there was no way I couldn’t. I’d sat there, watchin’ him watch me and probably readin’ every though, knowin’ of every feelin’ goin’ through my brain. It’d hurt to sit there with that forced smile on me face, but I’d done it ‘cos I’d known that was what he’d wanted. I’d bit the inside of my bottom lip when I’d seen the warm tenderness cover his face, had seen the way his eyes had softened as he’d kept watchin’.

“Aren’t you tired of starin’ at me, mate?” I’d finally asked with a small laugh. He’d grinned that beautiful wide smile of his.

“No, not yet. Give me another fifty years or so and then maybe,” he’d chuckled.

“You’re naff, ye know that?”

He’d laid his head back on his pillow and shut his eyes for a moment before he’d reopened ‘em. “Ya know, I’m glad that Sam, Lou, and Meg all got yer looks – poor Dhani, looks just like his berk of a dad! Even if Sam looks too much like Paul for his own good.” George had laughed quietly and I’d joined in.

“Louise may take after my side, but she’s the most like you out of the four of ‘em!” I’d said with a sigh and a bit of a shake of my head as I’d recalled stubborn-as-a-goat daughter I’d gotten as a second child. After the easy-going nature which had characterised our eldest Sam, Louise had been quite a handful.

“I know it, poor girl,” he’d agreed tenderly, closin’ his eyes once more.

He’d grown quiet for a minute durin’ which I’d wondered if he’d fallen asleep, but based on the tight hold he’d still kept on my hands, I’d thought not. “They’re such beautiful babies, Lizzy. You gave me such beautiful babies.”

I’d felt a knot in my throat but I’d made myself chuckle light-heartedly. “Sam’s almost thirty, lovie, I’m not sure he’d be too keen on you callin’ him a baby.”

“That’s true. Doesn’t change the fact though.” He’d opened his eyes to stare up at me, a gentleness there that threatened to make me lose the last little bit of control I’d had remainin’. “Thank ye for carryin’ our babies, Lizzy. Thank you for wantin’ ‘em, for lovin’ the four of ‘em as much as ye do even if they’ve got too much of their grumpy old father in ‘em for their own good.”

The mistiness in my eyes had been hot and taken a deep breath to clear it a bit. I’d needed to hold on, I couldn’t do what I’d wanted nothin’ more than anythin’ else in the world to do. “George, I need to finish packin’...our flight...” I’d felt the quiver in my voice and I’d gulped, doin’ everythin’ I could to keep it in.

“I’m goin’ to be ok, Liz. And you’ll be ok, too.” He’d said, lookin’ at me quietly, so much fuckin’ love in his eyes then and that I’d almost not been able to stand it.

“George, I really need to finish packin’...”I’d trailed off, takin’ a deep breath as I’d moved to get up, but his hold had remained firm.

“You’ll be ok, Liz. You’ll be ok.” And he’d pulled me to him, tuckin’ my head under his chin in the way that he’d known I’d liked. ‘I like hearin’ your heartbeat’ I’d confessed to him once in the early days. “You’ll be ok, Lizzy. You’ll be ok,” he’d kept on sayin’, over and over in that soothin’ way of his.

Like it’d been on various other occasions other the years, I’d felt the wellin’ in the pit of my gut and then felt it travel up until it’d settled in my chest heavily. I tried to breathe, but all I could smell was the odour of his skin, and he’d kept strokin’ my hair from me face, whisperin’ those words over and over until they were a mantra runnin’ through my head. And then I couldn’t hold it anymore; I would’ve been an impossibility.

The sobs had wracked my body when they’d started, comin’ in spasms that made my chest ache with a pain so excrutiatin’ that I hadn’t ever known I could ever feel somethin’ like that. It’d hurt just to breathe, to know that there was nothin’ I could do to fuckin’ fix this, to make this go away. Still George had held me, still he’d continued to stroke my hair, still he’d continued to murmur those words into my hair as if they were a prayer. I’d wrapped my fingers around his shirt tightly as I’d felt roll after roll of the painful sobs go through my body, wantin’ nothin’ more than for it to go away, even while entertainin’ the thought that I’d gladly spend the rest of me life with that pain if only I could keep him instead.

“Georgie,” I’d whispered into his collarbone, feelin’ his arms come ‘round me even more tightly. “Georgie, what if it doesn’t work?” I asked him softly, not even believin’ I could voice my concern, my worry. I’d wanted to kick mesself for even thinkin’ such a thing. _He was goin’ to be fine! Fine, ye stupid bint!_

“What if it doesn’t, hmm?” He’d replied quietly, finger still movin’ through my hair.

“It has to work, George. It has to...” I’d gasped as I’d felt another spasm go through my body, further wetting the collar of his shirt.

“Lizzy, look at me,” he’d whispered, and I’d shaken my head, not wantin’ to look at him, not wantin’ him to see me this way. He’d cupped my face tenderly and tilted it up until he’d been lookin’ straight at me, into my insides. “I’m not afraid to die, Lizzy. I don’t want to, but I’m not afraid of it.” He’d stroked my cheek, and in that moment, he’d looked so much like the dark-haired with the bleedin’ gorgeous smile I’d finally kissed in that lounge in New York City all those years before, it’d made my heart ache even more.

“What’ll I do?”

“Be happy, continue to live yer life, drink your fifty pots of tea every day,” he’d said with a smile, “do everythin’ you’ve always done, Lizzy. I don’t want ye to stop doin’ any of the things that make ye happy, ok?”

“But how can you expect me to _want_ to—“

“Because I’ve earned it after all these years of puttin’ up with you and yer overbearin’ ways, Mrs. Harrison, that’s why,” he’d said with that same soft smile on his face. “Not only do ye turn me down cold the first time I asked ye ‘bout givin’ us a go, but it took ye until near the bloody last tour to put me out of my misery!”

I’d laughed, unable not to, as I’d thought of George has anythin’ near as miserable as he’d claimed to be. “Oh yes, plenty miserable. I wonder what all those hundreds of groupies would say to that!”

“Nursin’ me broken heart I was!” He’d chuckled and I’d sighed before curlin’ into him. “So as I was sayin’, Mrs. Harrison, by virtue of puttin’ up with you and yer horrid moods since I was a wee boy, the least ye owe me is to not stop livin’ a moment of your life if for some reason I’m not here, ok?”

And so I’d sighed before noddin’, knowin’ that there was no use in tryin’ to argue with him. Not ‘bout this.

“I can’t stand it, Georgie,” I’d whispered finally, “the thought of bein’ without you.” I’d spent more than half of my life married to him, and didn’t know how I’d go back...to not if it came to pass.

“Then don’t think ‘bout it, luv.” He’d replied, as if it was the most logical answer. I hadn’t answered, instead I’d buried my head into the side of his neck. The feelin’ of his heart beatin’ against my lips was a precious one. “Ye never will be. The love I have for you has no beginnin’ and no end. It’s neverending.”

“It’s infinite,” I’d said. And I’d realised that no matter what happened, that ultimately, I’d be as he’d said: I’d be ok. There was no way I could not be. He’d have it no other way.

**December, 2001**

“Mum, it’s time,” Dhani had said had he’d wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I’d seen the two Hare Krishna devotees waitin’ for me. It was time to do what George had wanted.

Lookin’ at my youngest son, the one who looked the most like his father, I’d nodded before givin’ him a small smile. I’d looked at my three other children who were quietly waitin’ with those two men as I’d felt my son slide his fingers through mine. “Let’s go,” I’d answered, and givin’ his hand a squeeze, we’d walked out into the bright Indian sunshine towards the shore of the Ganges.


End file.
